Pleasing the Crowds
by RestichMyRippedJeans
Summary: "Cal" O'Callahan doesn't want to move to St. Paul, but she would never leave her older brother Jack. Just like OC, she hates the guys from Minnesota, and her trust issues don't exactly help. Will the enemy be the one to see what no one else has?
1. What Makes Me a Liar

**Hey. I don't own Miracle. Really people, do you think I would be doing this if I did? I just had this idea and I wanted to try it out. Let me know what you think.**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

I definitely didn't want to move to Minnesota where nothing ever happened. I was born and raised in Boston which I thought was probably the best place on Earth. I loved being in the city. The city was exciting and there was never a dull moment. That's why I loved it so much; I hated dull moments.

But the fact was OC was going to no-where land because he made the Olympic hockey team. I was totally stoked when I found out, but then I realized that for the first time in my life we wouldn't be in walking distance of each other. We even lived in the same apartment at the moment. Jack and I were really close. I was studying art at Boston University and had the option to transfer to go to a college with a better program. At first I didn't even consider it because I knew my brother Jack would be completely lost without me. Even though he's older than me by two years and took care of me since I was sixteen, he needed me. He didn't even know it, but it was true.

One of the colleges with a great art program was the University of Minnesota. So I applied a week after we had found out that OC would have to go to Minnesota. I didn't tell him because I didn't want him to think I was trying to look after him. That's the other thing; Jack couldn't know he would be lost without me. It would hurt his ego. I hadn't gotten any reply but I was sure it would come any day now. I walked home from college to my apartment building thinking it might come today. I didn't know what I would do if I didn't get accepted.

_No, I shouldn't get my hopes up. It probably_ _won't be there._

Even so, I stopped by the mail room in the lobby and unlocked the metal box labeled: O'CALLAHAN.

Junk mail, junk mail, phone bill, mysterious white envelope. I flipped it over and read the return address. It was from Minnesota. I had it opened in about two seconds. Scanning the page, I only saw the word _happy to inform,_ _accepted_ and _July 1rst_.

"Yes!" I shouted so loud I got weird looks from everyone in the lobby. I didn't care, I just ran up five flights of stairs without stopping even though I tripped a bunch of times.

Maybe I had too much coffee this morning.

"OC?" I called as I stepped into our apartment. I dropped my bag on the my brother and I were slobs; stuff was always everywhere.

"In here," Jack replied from his bedroom. I walked across the living room/kitchenarea and into his room. He was laying on his bed in nothing but a pair of whitey tighties.

"I told you about wearing those!" I said as I came into his room. "You won't beable to have babies!" I sat on the window sill of the only window in the room.

"Sorry _Jenna._ Looks like you won't be able to be an aunt anytime soon." he

replied, using my real name which I hated. Everyone always called me Cal from _O'Callahan_. I threw a pillow and it hit him square in the head.

"Ow!" he whined.

"That did not hurt!"

"Yes it did! You're strong,"

"Whatever," I sighed and held up the envelope from Minnesota. "Do you know what _this_ is?"

This time it was his turn to sigh."Mail, I guess."

"Not just any mail, dipstick. Mail from Minnesota."

He raised an eyebrow at me."Huh?"

"You know how my art teacher thought I should transfer to a different college because of the sucky program here?"

"Yeah,"

"Well, Minnesota is like the best place! So I applied and they accepted me!"

"Cal, that's great!"

He held out his hand and I high-fived it. We were so immature.

"So are you gonna live in a dorm or something?"

"Yeah that's what I was thinking. It'll be pretty expensive but when I'm rich and famous I'll be able to pay it off."

He grinned. "Hello, _I'm_ on the Olympic hockey team! I think I'll be the famous one in the family!" he laughed.

"Well, then you can pay it!"

"That backfired. . .Wait a minute—is that all the mail we got?" he asked.

"Oh yeah. . ." I felt around in my jeans pocket even though I knew the rest of the mail wouldn't be in there. "I think I might have dropped it. . ."

OC rolled his eyes. "Classic Cal,"

"Hello?" Dave Silk's voice came from the living room.

"Silky!" I yelled and ran from the room to greet him. He was my best friend.

"'Ello govnah!" he said in a fake British accent.

"How do you do?" I asked, playing along.

OC walked out of his bedroom pulling on some clothes. "Oh great," he muttered sarcastically.

All of our friends thought Silky and I were annoying. We had all these crazy inside jokes and always acted really hyper when we were together. Even though Silky and I were never serious, he was the only other person besides Jack that I really trusted. I didn't trust a lot of people. I know everyone thinks it has something to do with my messed-up childhood. My mom walking out on me, Jack and my father when I was eleven. Their marriage was going to hell and my dad was abusive towards her, me and OC. It only got worse after she left. That's why the day after Jack turned eighteen he packed us up and we moved in with one of his friends. Nothing really changed. I mean, I kept going to the same school and OC went to BU like he was planning to. But Jack could have just left me to fend for myself. It would have been a lot easier without a teenager to take care of. I think he gave up a lot for me, so that's why I just wasn't going to leave him in Minnesota.

"I have super fantastical news!" I exclaimed.

"What? What?" Silky asked, already jumping up and down.

"I got accepted to the University of Minnesota!"

"Yay! We can be best friends forever!"

Silky had made the team, too. At first I had been pretty upset, but I knew that was selfish so I didn't say anything. Now everything was working out, something I definitely wasn't used to.

"Ah!" OC cried, covering his ears. "You're killing my ear drums!"

"Sorry, buddy." Silky said. "Isn't this great?"

OC glared at both of us. "Super,"

I burst out laughing. "We have to celebrate!"

"I don't think so, Cal." OC interrupted, poring himself a bowl of Cheerios. "Every time you walk into a bar you get hammered."

"Who said anything about going to bar?" I asked defensively.

He gave me one of his are-you-freaking-kidding-me looks.

"Alright, fine. But I don't get hammered _every _time I go to a bar. You're exaggerating." I looked to Silky for support. "Right Davey?"

He glanced at Jack. "Um. . ."

I rolled my eyes. "Wuss,"

"We should do _something_." OC admitted.

"Why don't we go out to eat?" I suggested.

"Why are you always thinking about food?" OC asked me, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Tisk, tisk." Silky put in. "You two have to pack."

"Come on, I don't have to leave until like a week!" I said.

"When do you go?"

"The first of July, I think."

"That's in two days, Cal." Silky informed me.

"Shit,"

"So we can still go out!" OC said with a mouthful of Cheerios.

"Okay! You know I can't stay mad at you guys!" Silky said happily.

That night I went out to my favorite Chinese place with Silky, OC and his best friend Mike Eruzione, aka Rizzo. Plus Jim Craig, another friend of ours from Boston U. He had also made the hockey team, surprise, surprise.

"Have you guys packed yet?" Rizzo asked once our food came.

"Yes," Silky and Jim said at the exact same time OC and I said, "No,"

"Guys, we're leaving in two days."

"Relax!" I said, waving my chopsticks at him. "Did anyone ever tell you need to relax?"

"There's sweet and sour sauce all over you face," he told me flatly. I glared at him as Silky, Jimmy and OC laughed their heads off.

"Shut up!" I snapped. The three of them shut up.

"Anyways, what's the deal with you guys not telling me anything about your other teammates?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Just OC and Silky being immature." Jim informed me.

"_Them_ acting immature?" I pretended to be shocked. "Impossible!"

"What Jimmy _means_ is that there are a bunch of guys from Minnesota." Rizzo said. OC started grumbling at the mention of this.

"Well, _obviously,_ Brooks is from Minnesota." I pointed out.

"What _Rizzo_ means is Rob McClanahan." OC said.

"You mean Cheap Shot?" I asked. Jack and I had come up with our own personalnickname for the guy. Asshole.

"That's right."

"Guys, seriously, that was over three years ago." Jim said.

I had to admit, OC was carrying this grudge on a bit longer than necessary, and maybe I shouldn't have been encouraging him. But like I said, we were really close; we fought the same battles, we had the same enemies. We'd always be on the same side.

When we went home OC was still kind of mad at Jim and Rizzo. He went straight into his room without saying a word. I thought I should start packing but when I looked at all my crap I couldn't.

"Tomorrow," I muttered to myself as I got into my pajamas and turned on the TV in my room.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXX**

On the first of July OC, Silky, Rizzo, Jimmy and I were taking a plan to Minnesota. That morning, all I had packed was some clothes.

"You're unbelievable," Silky told me. He was standing in the door frame watching me ransacking my room. How many clothes did I have?

"Don't just stand there; help me!"

He went to the other side of my room and picked up an ancient duffel bag sitting on my bed. We were leaving all the furniture in the apartment for the next tenants, but I still had loads of junk. I didn't even have enough bags to put it all in. I was borrowing some of Rizzo's.

"Hey, watch it!" I yelled at Silky as he started to pick up one of my cameras.

"What?"

"That thing was expensive! Leave it in the case it comes in."

"It wasn't in a case, Cal."

I got down on my stomach and pulled it out from under my bed. "Here you go!" I said brightly, pushing it over to him.

He just shook his head. "Like I said. . .unbelievable."

Somehow I managed to get all packed up in time for the flight. Silky and I were exhausted. We slept the whole plan ride.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

College in Minnesota was going great. I loved all my art classes. I was taking painting, sculpture, photography and film. I wanted to do it all. I tired to schedule my classes when there wasn't hockey practice. I loved hockey and thought it was so cool to watch the actual USA team practice. And Minnesota wasn't so bad either. But I had no sense of direction and was getting lost. Constantly.

I was able to come to the first practice. I sat in the stands of the U doing some of my more boring homework. I wasn't really concentrating. I kept looking up to see what was going on the ice. Herb Brooks sure did yell a lot.

After a while I got bored of watching them doing drills, plus I was hungry. I put my books in my bag and went to the concession stands in the lobby. I was sitting at the bar halfway through my second hot dog when one of the players came out. He had all his gear on and his face was all red. His nose was bleeding. I guessed there had been a fight and was mad I missed it.

Stupid hunger pains.

I didn't recognize him so I guess he was from Minnesota. Or maybe Wisconsin. Even though he was all bloody, I could tell he was pretty good looking. I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he sat a few seats down from me. He grabbed a handful of napkins from a dispenser and started mopping his face with them.

My mom's a nurse. Or was. I don't know what she's doing nowadays. I hadn't seen her since she left when I was eleven. I hadn't _talked_ to her since then. But anyways, OC and I were always getting hurt as kids. We loved to play street hockey and always played rough. We were always coming home with scrapes, scratches and bruises. I had a million memories of my mom cleaning up our injuries. For some reason that always stuck with me.

"You're doing it all wrong," I blurted out. The guy slowly looked up at me. He had wavy brown hair, brown eyes and a mole on the right side of his face near his chin.

"Huh?"

"You're just making it worse," I explained. He still didn't get it. I sighed and put my half-eaten hot dog down. "First of all, you need water." I got a new napkin and leaned over the bar so I could get it wet under the sink. "Now hold still." I instructed. Then I started to dab his face where it was bruised and bloody. At one point he closed his eyes and had a look of utter peacefulness on his face. I could be gentle when I wanted to be. It took me a minute to realize I had been dabbing a lot longer than necessary.

I pulled my gaze from his face and abruptly moved away from him. I threw the bloody napkin away.

"Well, that should do it." I said.

He opened his eyes. "Thanks. I feel much better."

"Yeah. . .it's no big deal." I lied. It sort of was. I wasn't the kind of person to just be nice to strangers. Sometimes it was just hard looking past my own problems to reach out to my friends. I remembered last year when my friend's boyfriend broke up with her at a party in front of everybody. She started crying right there. It took me a full minute to move across the room and comfort her. I felt frozen, like I couldn't move my feet. I didn't know why it was so hard. I _wanted_ to help her.

"So there was a fight, huh?" I asked, trying to change the subject.

He chuckled a little. "Yeah. I sort of got the worst of it." He stuck out his hand. "Rob McClanahan."

I froze. So this was Cheap Shot up close and personal. I immediately pushed all those thoughts of him being good looking away and cursed myself for ever thinking that.

I didn't shake his hand. I couldn't.

"I'm pretty sure I know who did that to you."

He gave the same look he did when I first had spoken to him. The one I thought was sort of cute. I did not just think that! Stupid, stupid, Cal! He was the _enemy!_ God help me.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I think it was my brother. I'm Cal O'Callahan. And I think you're an ass."

"Cal O'Callahan?" he repeated, momentarily distracted. That's what everyone said when they first heard me name. I definitely wasn't going to explain it to _him._

He shook his head a little, probably trying to clear it. "How can you say I'm an ass? You don't even know me!"

"I know that you cheap shot my brother!"

"_That's_ what all this is about?"

"Damn right it is!"

"Well, you know what?" he yelled back at me. "Boston would have lost even with O'Callahan in the game!"

"Are you calling my brother a bad player?" I demanded.

"Maybe I am! I also think he's a childish baby with anger management issues! He's crazy!"

"Shut up about my brother!" I had a temper and was really protective of my friends and family. Actually, Jack was my only family, but that was beside the point.

"_He's_ the ass here and I can see you're a lot like him!"

I lost it then and really let my anger out. I reeled back and punched him the gut. I knew he was a forward and didn't have any protection there. The force of the punch knocked him off his stool and he grunted in pain.

"What is _with_ your family?" he shouted, clutching his stomach.

"What's going on here?"

Rizzo and Silky had just walked into the lobby.

McClanahan glared at me. Rizzo and Silky put two and two together. My temper and tendency to get in fights, McClanahan holding his stomach.

"Come on," Rizzo said sternly and grabbed my arm.

"Let go of me," I barked but he just pulled me outside.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded. We were standing in front of the building.

"Giving him what he deserves."

"You have to let this go! It's not even you're problem."

"You know it is!" He knew it was, too. He knew how close OC and I were. His problems were my problems and vise versa. "He was bad mouthing OC. What was I supposed to do?"

"You don't go around punching people you hardly now!" Rizzo yelled at me. He seldom lost his cool, but he hated violence. He hated OC's and my temper. "You have got to cool it!" he continued. "This is crazy! We're on a team now, so you might as well get used to it!"

I shrank back from Rizzo's words. He was like a second brother to me. I didn't want to make him mad. I felt guilty. He always looked after me and I had upset him.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly. Apologizing was another thing that was hard for me to do.

"I know. I'm sorry I yelled at you, Callie."

"Don't be,"

"Well, don't apologize to me. Tell that to Mac."

"No way,"

"Cal, come on; you have to do this."

He reached out to grab my arm but I moved away.

"I can't, Rizzo!" I looked down at my Converses and then said softly, "I'm not ready."

He understood. Well, not completely. No one—myself included—knew why it was so hard for me to be serious or emotional. No one knew why I couldn't get to that emotional place with other people. I was scared of commitment. I was scared of needing things, but even more so of being needed. That's why I had so few close friends. Silky and Rizzo were basically the only ones.

It was hard for me. Sometimes I just wanted to trust people. That's why I had never had a long term relationship. The second I felt it was getting even a little bit serious—I ended it. Sometimes I hated myself for that. I had probably missed out on a lot of good relationships, but I always think, who cares? They would have ended eventually

and then I would have been disappointed. I was scared of getting hurt. Again. I was scared of being abandoned or betrayed.

It was sort of funny. I wasn't sacred of playing hockey with boys and stuff lik ethat. Actually, I was a daredevil. The only thing I didn't chance were my feelings. The only thing I was really scared of were emotions, _my_ emotions.

"Okay," Rizzo said more gently, right back to his normal self. "Alright, Callie. That's okay."

But somewhere in the pit of my stomach, I knew it wasn't.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**Yo, thanks for reading! You review if you liked it OR hated it. A compliment, constructive criticism, whatever. **


	2. I Just Want To Feel Good Tonight

**So the last chapter was called what it was because I was trying to describe Cal's personality a little bit. Plus, it's a lyric from a song and I like the way it sounds. All the chapter names are lyrics form songs, if you were wondering. **

**Don't be confused about the bit at the end. I just thought I would stick that in there. I'll probably be having more flash-backs like that throughout the chapters.**

**Peachey65 and Skyler1510: Thank you guys so much for reviewing! When I read what you said it made me happy! :)**

**Skyler1510 and hockeychick19: Thanks for adding my story to your favorites! You rock!**

**Disclaimer: I own anything you don't recognize.**

**Sorry for any mistakes**

"I'm not surprised Cal did it," Silky was saying. They were talking about when I punched McClanahan. OC, Rizzo, Silky, Ralph Cox (I call him Awesome Mustache Guy) and I were sitting at a table in the bar the team liked to hang out at after practice. It was dim and everyone's faces were cast in eerie shadows. I liked the dimness of bars, the way you could just shrink into its dark corners. It was a good place to hide.

"Like brother, like sister, right?" OC said and nudged me. "Eh? _Eh?"_

I ignored him. I kind of wished everyone would just forget about it. It had happened almost a week ago, after all. It wasn't a big deal. I mean, I hadn't put him in the hospital or anything.

Unfortunately.

"What are you talking about?" Silky said. "You say 'like father, like son' or something."

Coxy gave me an apologetic look across the table. I looked away. I knew he thought thatI felt bad about punching McClanahan, but I didn't feel bad. It felt good to punch Cheap Shot.

Really.

Rizzo started ordering drinks so OC and Silky would stop arguing like five-year-olds. I got a beer, as usual. I could feel Silky giving me a concerned look. I ignored that too. Lately he had been acting like I had some sort of drinking problem. I drank to celebrate and occasionally when I was upset, but who didn't? He was just paranoid because my dad was an alcoholic (that's one of the reasons why he was abusive). That had nothing to do with it. I was me and my dad was my dad. I was _not_ like him. The fact that OC was right about getting stoned every time I walking into a bar was beside the point. Just to prove Silky wrong, I promised myself that I wouldn't get drunk. In fact, I would only have one beer. Then he would get off my back.

After five minutes of staring at the bottom of an empty glass, I got bored with the conversation at the table and stood up, looking for someone else to talk to. The guys from Michigan and Wisconsin weren't so bad. I had gotten to know them during the past week.

"Hey, Callie." Mark Johnson said as I walked up to the bar where he was sitting. It seemed like I had known Mark all my life, instead of just a week. He just had that quality about him—that friendliness. I admired it because I never understood how those kind of people could just trust everyone right away unconditionally. That must be nice—to have everyone love you.

"It's O'Callahan to you," I joked, taking the stool next to him. He grinned at me. The guy had the biggest smile I've ever seen.

"Wanna drink?"

"No thanks, I've already had one."

"I thought you liked more than one a night."

"That sounded dirty," Bob Suter said, joining us.

"You just have a sick mind." I said pointedly.

"Touché,"

"So how's school going?" Mark asked, turning his attention back to me. Usually boring questions like those would have annoyed me, but not when no one else was asking. OC and Silky never asked, and Rizzo and Jimmy had been too busy with practice. Sure, I had a roommate to talk to, but we never talked about school. Her name was Blake and she was alright. She was studying theater.

"Am I putting you to sleep here?" I asked when I realized I had been talking for a long time. Suter had walked away.

"No, no—I like to hear you talk." he said quickly.

"Oh, thanks." I stuttered. No one had ever said anything to me like that before. It seemed like I could talk for hours to Mark. He was the best listener, just nodding and saying the right things at the right times. And the thing was, he really _was_ listening and not just pretending to. I could tell because he looked right in your eyes. He had these amazing light blue-green eyes that were the color of the ocean or something. Turquoise. I had never met anyone with turquoise eyes before.

McClanahan walked up to the bar on the other side of Mark. He ordered a round of drinks for his table before noticing me and Mark.

"Hey Mark," he said, carrying a couple of beers in his hands. As he walked by me, his

wrist turned and caused the mug he was holding to tilt, spilling beer all over me. I jumped up from my seat as I felt the cold sink through my shirt.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I shouted loud enough for the whole bar to hear.

"Oops," he said, smiling sweetly. His voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Sorry."

"You did that on purpose!"

"Why would I purposely spill a beer that I paid for all over you, O'Callahan?"

"Because you're a prick! Fuck you, McClanahan!"

"I'm sure it was just an accident, Cal." Suter said, who had come back to the bar when he heard me yelling.

"Sure. He just spontaneously loses control of his arms." Mark said, glaring daggers at McClanahan.

"Well, it sure looks that way when he's on the ice." I said.

A bunch of people went, "Oooh," and Bob laughed.

I couldn't really read McClanahan's expression. He looked taken aback and angry at the same time. But maybe also—could it be possible?—a small hint of smile. No way. I must have been seeing things.

"Whatever, O'Callahan. And I think you look better covered in beer, you know what I

mean?" He smiled at me again before walking away.

I cursed under my breath and turned back to the bartender.

"Hit me,"

**XXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"Jeez, I think all that food is starting to do something to you." OC said.

I tired to insult him back, but all that came out was a slur of words. OC was caring me to someone's car. I could probably walk, but since I was impossibly clumsy when I was sober, they figured that I would fall flat on my face a million times if I walked across the parking lot.

Maybe they were right. I didn't really care; I was too drunk to argue.

"You gotta stop doing this," I heard Silky's voice to my right.

"It's notta big deeeal."

"Yes it is. I hate it when you're like this."

OC tripped a little, and I groaned. My head hurt too much to talk. The last thing I remember was laying down in the backseat of a car before I blacked out.

When I woke up I didn't know where I was—not the best way to start the morning. My head was hanging halfway off the bed and blankets were twisted all around my legs. I hadn't had the most sound sleep. It hurt to move, but I lifted my head up and looked around. I was in a dorm room. I rolled over and saw a familiar Red Sox Poster on the wall. It was OC and Rizzo's. I sighed with relief and settled back down in the bed. Then I remembered everything that happened last night.

"Damn it," Everything had gone wrong. McClanahan humiliated me, I had gotten drunk and now I was sick. I buried my face in a pillow because I felt like crap. My head was pounding, my stomach was going berserk and I was mad at myself. I breathed in the scent of the pillow and I knew it was Rizzo's bed. It had his smell. I don't know if it was his aftershave or maybe the shampoo he always used or something, but whenever I smelt it, I just thought _Rizzo._ It was a comforting smell since he was like a big brother to me.

I felt a cramp in my stomach so I pulled myself out of bed and ran to the bathroom across the room. I was too busy puking my guts out to notice anyone had come in until I felt someone holding my hair back. Then I was done, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and looked. It was Silky.

"Morning sunshine," he chimed.

I put my elbows on the toilet seat and held my head in my hands.

"Feel bad?" he asked me.

I nodded.

"Come here," he held out his arms and I rested against his chest.

"So you're not mad at me anymore?" I remembered what he had said last night.

He sighed and started rubbing circles on my back with the palm of his hand. "I was never mad at you. I just worry about you sometimes."

"Please don't. I don't need to be worried about."

"Everyone needs to be worried about sometimes."

I didn't agree with him but I decided not to push it. Instead I took time to notice the taste of barf in my mouth. "Ughhh,"

"Do you have any classes today?" Silky asked.

"Shit!" I yelled and jumped up. Bad idea. The whole room went spinning.

"Easy there, Cal." He stood up and grabbed my shoulders. "When are they?"

"At noon. . .I think."

"Well, we'll have to chance it. You should rest right now."

I looked down at my beer-stained clothes from last night. "I need to change." I smelled my armpits. "I need to _shower,"_

"Later," he said, steering me to the bed. "You need to lie down right now. I'll go make my magic hangover cure".

"You're the best,"

I got to school about fifteen minutes late, which isn't bad since I'm usually ten minutes late every day. Silky's hangover cure really worked. He said it was a family recipe and never told anyone what was in it. I knew not to argue about it anymore. I had managed to make myself look presentable by putting a lot of makeup on under my eyes to cover up the bags. They were especially deep after late nights. I also pulled my light golden brown, shoulder length hair in a pony tale because it was curving up at odd angles. It was naturally wavy, which bugged me.

My first class was American history. I thought it was really interesting—no one could understand why. My roommate Blake was taking it too and we usually tried to sit together because neither of us really didn't know anybody. Since I was so late today we couldn't. Instead I sat in the third row pretending to pay attention to the teacher. I was hunched over my desk concentrating on trying not to throw up over everything in a three feet radius.

When the bell rang I stood on shaky legs and walked slowly to the hall. Blake ran up to me from behind and grabbed my shoulder. It scared the living crap out of me.

"AH!" I yelled and dropped all the books I was holding. One of them landed on my foot. "Fuck!"

"I am sorry, I am sorry, Cal!" Blake said very quickly. I grunted in response and knelt down to pick them up.

"Are you okay?" she asked, kneeling beside me. "Oh, don't look at like that. Oh yeah. Partying last night? I said not to look at like that, Cal! You had me worried sick, you know. I woke up and you still hadn't come home!"

Here are the things you need to know about Blake:

(1) She is boy crazy.

(2) She was a giant mouth and had the ability to talk for three minutes without stopping for breath.

(3) Every boy enrolled in Minnesota University had fallen in love with her ever since she started term.

I knew all this and I had just met her. So I guess you can figure out what kind of person she is.

In. Your. Face.

"I talked to your brother—he is absolutely smoking by the way—and that guy that looks

like a teddy bear, Ruzy or Riza or whatever, and they told me they had taken you up to their dorm. I thought that was really sweet."

Blake was still talking. I had temporarily zoned out.

"He just kept staring at you—hey, are you listening to me?"

"What?" I asked, standing back up. "Oh yeah. Of course I was listening."

"What did I just say?"

"Something about a teddy bear. . ."

"Ugh, never mind. What I mean to tell you was there was this hot guy sitting a few rows behind you!" she said, looking as if she was ready to explode. "He was totally checking you out!"

"Great," I replied unenthusiastically.

"Callie, come on! I mean, he was really hot!"

"Why, thank you." a voice said from behind us. Blake and I spun around.

Oh. Fucking. No.

"Long time no see, huh Callie?" The person who I hoped I would never have to talk to again was standing in the middle of the hallway with his hands in his pockets. It was Nolan King, my ex-boyfriend. He looked mostly the same; curly dirty blond hair, intense dark blue eyes, square jaw and one of his tight T-shirts to show off his muscles. In other words, a complete man hunk.

Disgusting, isn't it?

"What the HELL are you doing here?" I demanded once I got over the shock of seeing him standing there. Blake elbowed me in the ribs.

"You'll have to excuse her. She's a bit hung over from last night."

"Cal, Cal, _Cal,_ you haven't changed a bit." He gave me a once over and smirked. "Fortunately."

"Aren't you going to introduce us?" Blake said, twirling a piece of dark hair around her index finger.

"No way—_ouch._ Why do you keep doing that?" Blake had elbowed me again. She raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows. "Fine!" I said exasperatedly. "Nolan, this is Blake Corry. Blake, this is Nolan King, my one-celled organism of an ex-boyfriend, who still hasn't told me what the hell he's doing in Minnesota."

"You aren't the only one that can get transferred." he said smartly. The corner of his mouth twitched.

"_You_ got transferred? Minnesota accepted _you?_" I was in disbelief.

"Surprised?"

"We have to get to our next class." I said. More like snarled.

"Actually we have time—" Blake began.

"Let's go!" I said louder than necessary and grabbed her sleeve. I led her all the way out of the school building before I stopped.

"What's the matter with you?" Blake snapped, regaining control of her arm. "How can you be so rude? It wasn't fair to Nolan."

"Don't talk to me about fair," I said through gritted teeth.

"What?" Blake asked, unsure if she had heard me correctly.

"Nothing. I'll be late for class."

"Since when do you care about being late to class?"

I didn't answer. I looked over Blake's head so I wouldn't have to look at her face and started shifting from foot to foot. It was my best tactic to get people to leave me alone.

"Okay, what happened between you two?" she said.

"Hmm," I mumbled. Mumbling was one of me best defense mechanisms.

"What was that?"

She really wasn't going to let this go.

"Nothing."

"Cal—"

"I have to go," I stated, turned on my heel and made my way against the flow of people back to the safety of the college crowd. I liked being swallowed up, disappearing.

**XXXXXXXXXXXX**

It wasn't as if Nolan had broken my heart. I was the one who had ended it. But it was so much more complicated than that. I couldn't just _end_ it.

I met him at some college frat party back in Boston. He was on the football team. He had a scholarship for being a two-ton super human and a complete moron. I knew him as a player- womanizer type guy so I wasn't really surprised when he started hitting on me and wouldn't leave me alone the whole night. Then the use of many red plastic cups and one of my friends edging me on got me tied up in a roller coaster that I couldn't get off for over four and a half months.

"I'm really not a bad guy," he had said, sitting next to me in a lawn chair, edging closer and closer. "Give me a chance."

"Get lost," I said, taking another gulp of booze. I just wanted everything to melt away—including Nolan.

"Cal," the friend had hastily whispered in my ear. "Any other girl—including me, you

understand?—would kill for fucking Nolan King to beg them for a date. So you better say yes or you're going to be in serious trouble. Besides, just look at him; Gor_geous_."

"Fine. But one date, that's IT!"

I know, I'm a giant idiot for giving in. But I wasn't thinking straight. I never could when I started drinking.

That's how it all started, and as you can probably guess it didn't end with just one date. I kept going back and it kept getting more and more like a relationship before I could stop it. I felt as if I didn't have any control over my own life, and the truth was; I didn't. Nolan had all the control. He treated me like crap and I thought I deserved it. When he cheated on me (which he did a lot) I thought I wasn't good enough for him and tried to please him more. Now that I looked back, I was the one doing all the apologizing—getting down on my knees and everything. I thought I needed him and didn't want to be left alone. He should have been doing the apologizing. I should have been the one threatening to leave. But Nolan liked to see me beg.

Finally, Silky, OC, Jim and Rizzo got my head out of the clouds. They literally had to pull me away from him. But a few weeks after I had been clear of him, I came to my senses. It scared me to think that I didn't know what was bad for me. Like I wasn't fit to run my own life or something. I didn't want to have to depend on anyone. All that was over a month ago, during which Nolan treated me as if I didn't exist. Sometimes it still hurt to see him walking in the hallways at school and he didn't even look at me. It's not right to completely ignore someone you spent months with. Getting away from him was definitely a plus about moving to St. Paul.

All I really knew about Nolan King was that could make four months seem like four years.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Thank God I didn't see King of the Asses the rest of the day. The team had practice that

afternoon, but I hadn't planned on going because I didn't want to run into yet another duchebag in my life. I needed some cheering up after running into Nolan, and hanging out in the locker room worked like a charm. Plus, I did want to get revenge on McClanahan for "accidentally" spilling beer on me. I knew I would find a way and I thought seeing him at practice might give me some opportunities.

I definitely wasn't planning to tell anyone about running into Nolan. Jimmy, Rizzo, Silky and OC hated his guts. Silky and OC went after him a couple of times when they found out he was cheating on me with half the female population at Boston U. I didn't feel like bailing anyone out of jail.

It was fine for me to be in the locker room because I had always been one of the guys. I was raised mostly around guys. Even before my mom left she was never really there. Her work was always way more important than Jack and I. We were the last things she ever worried about. So then it had just been my dad and Jack. I also made friends with guys more easily than girls.

Now, Blake was basically the only girl friend I had.

I showed up late enough to catch everyone in the lockers. Before I walked in, Rizzo stopped me by the door.

"What?"

"You promise you'll behave?"

"What are you—my baby sitter?"

"I'm kind of on edge because now do I not only have to make sure you're brother doesn't kill someone, I've got you to worry about."

What is with everyone worrying about me?

"It was a one time thing, okay?" I lied. I hated lying to Rizzo, but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. I was _very_ good at playing pranks. "Let me through now."

"No, you're even worse than Jack. You're like—like a tornado of destruction or something. You have a naturally devious mind. You're dangerous to others."

"Yes, I'm naturally that way! I can't help it! You still love me, right?"

"That's not the point. Just promise you'll be nice to EVERYONE, okay?"

"Okay, okay. Let me though already."

"You promise?"

"Alright, I promise. Are you happy now? SATISFIED?" After about twelve decades he stepped aside to let me in. I walked past him and sat on a bench where all the Boston guys were hanging out.

"What is she doing in here?" Ken Morrow asked. "I thought there was a no girl policy."

"Cal's not a girl!" Silky said.

"What's _that_supposed to mean?" I asked him.

"Not to us you're not. You're just one of the guys, I mean."

"Yeah, and she's going to stay that way!" OC said loud enough for everyone to hear. I

rolled my eyes. He was so over protective. "So stop looking at her, Christoff!"

"I wasn't looking at her like that. I was just looking at her."

"Lay off, OC. You look at people when you talk to them." I said.

"That's what they want you to think." he mumbled and turned around.

Some hair escaped my pony tale and fell into my face. "Ugh," I yanked the holder out and put it back up again. Hair could be really annoying. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mark staring at something. I turned to him. "What are you looking at?"

He shook his head a little and smiled shyly. "Nothing. Sorry."

I smiled back. I thought it was funny when guys acted quirky. I started throwing a pair of balled up socks with Suter and Silky. We kept hitting each other in the face and laughing hysterically. I felt better right away. I loved the locker room atmosphere. The game stopped when Jim snatched up the socks.

"Hey!" I protested.

"I need them,"

"How come?"

"They're mysocks."

Suter, Silky and I looked at each other.

"Oh,"

"Oh."

"Sorry."

My stomach grumbled. Time for food.

"I'm getting something to eat," I said to no one in particular, standing up.

"Wait up," Silky said, pulling on his shoes.

I started walking towards the door when my left foot collided with something hard. I had tripped over the leg of the bench.

"Fuck!" I yelled. Leave it to me to trip in a room wall-to-wall with hot guys. All of the

Boston guys started laughing because they knew me. My foot, chin and elbow started stinging.

"Are you okay?" Mark asked, sounding thoroughly concerned.

"Of course she's okay," OC said, coming over to help me up. "Don't talk to her, Johnson."

He was in his every-guy-is-trying-to-bang-my-little-sister mood.

"Lay _off_, OC." I got back to my feet. "God, he wasn't doing anything wrong."

"I'm going to get the car," he said irritably and walked out of the room.

"Nice one, Klutz." McClanahan said in a sing-gong voice. I felt my blood boil, seeing him leaning his forearm on the wall and looking all cocky.

"What was that?" I asked, my eyelids turning to slits.

"I just don't know how you could trip over something that was right in front of you. I watched with satisfaction when you hit the ground."

I clutched my hands into fists. "What did you call me, McClanahan? I think I might have heard you wrong."

"Oh, I'm sorry—what I called you was—Klutz. Get it?"

I took a deep breath. "You know what I'm going to do?" I said in a controlled voice, remaining perfectly calm. "I'm going to shove—"

"HA HA!" Silky said very loudly. "Well, we better get going!" He grabbed the hood on my sweatshirt and pulled me towards the door. "See you guys!"

"Ah, choking here!" I coughed as Silky continued to yank me towards the front doors of the U. He didn't stop until we were in the deserted lobby.

"There you go," he let go of me. "Let it out."

So Silky warded off strangers while I shouted all the things I hated about McClanahan in a series of loud, uncontrollable spasms and punched things. Jimmy and Rizzo came out of the locker room once I had quieted down.

"You are scary when you're mad!" Jimmy told me.

Rizzo was giving me a serious look over Jimmy's shoulder.

"What?" I snapped.

"You overreacted."

"_I_ overreacted?"

"Yeah, he was just joking around."

"I don't know, Riz." Silky said. "He did sound kind of mean."

"God, I hate him so much!" I kicked the nearest object, which thankfully wasn't a human being.

So much for being cheered up.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXX**

It seems like a million years ago, but it was only a few—four actually—when I left home. I was sixteen and a sophomore, Jack was eighteen and a senior. I think he wanted to leave for a long time, but if he did before he was eighteen he couldn't have done anything. He couldn't have had a bank account or rented a place to live or anything.

I sort of knew it was coming. I could feel it and I knew Jack. But I didn't think he was planning to take me with him. Well, not at first. Or maybe he did, I don't know. Bottom line was that he didn't abandon me.

It started off like any other day. My dad was working. He always picked up odd jobs. I have to hand it to him—he did what Jack and I couldn't do. He worked and provided money. Jack always had to get him to give up some that he wouldn't spend on alcohol, cigarettes or whatever shady product he was into. Maybe my dad would have been a good man if he didn't have such a problem. He was sick, that's how our mom always described it to us when we were little.

We could we have done? We didn't have extra money. There was food, clothing, gas, the rent. He couldn't have gotten help living with us. He could have left too, but he never did. I still don't know why. It would have been better, though, with him gone. Sometimes we wished he would leave or get arrested or something. Or at least Jack did. Secretly, I wished that he would just get better and we could have the most normal sort of life we could manage.

It was a stupid wish.

Anyways, Jack was afraid of leaving me alone with him. I was like him—headstrong, stubborn—the characteristics that make somebody want to hit you. I might even try to fight back, and he could have killed me. It wasn't like he'd never hit me before. But when I was a kid, he would go easy on me—I guess it's the only way to put it. He would give me a chance to leave the room, or when I started crying so loudly the neighbors could here, he would stop. But that was before my mom left. He got so bad afterwards, with the drinking and everything, he had no self control. He didn't realize what he was doing. And I wouldn't have fought back when I was an eleven and twelve-year-old kid. But what Jack didn't know was that I never would have fought back. Not when I was sixteen, not now, not ever. I would just take it.

After our mom left, every time I got our dad mad—which could be a lot—Jack would always jump in. Before that, we were both scared little kids. Bur our mom never tried to stop him. Sometimes she would cry, but she would always turn her back. She would leave the house. Jack would tell _me_ to leave, but I never did. It didn't matter who my dad was mad at, as long as there was someone there to let it out on. That's why he would come home from work and start throwing things at people. He didn't even have to mad at someone, he just needed the someones to let it out on.

I would try to jump in the line of fire so Jack wouldn't be getting all of it. He'd always try to get me out of the way. But no matter what, I got hurt. That was probably my fault. Jack always tried so hard. To make up for mom leaving and a bum dad and everything else.

But this one day, Jack wanted to go to the local ice arena and practice. Usually I came with him, but more often than not, he stayed home. He didn't get as much ice time as other kids his age. None of them had to make sure his little sister was fed or their family didn't get evicted. I always felt guilty about that.

We both knew our dad was coming home from a job interview that night. It was like a serious job that he could hold down. If he didn't get it, he would come home and let it out. We knew it.

"Go, I'll be fine." I had said. "I can take care of myself." So he went and that was that. Then, a few hours later my dad came home and he hadn't gotten it. He exploded. By the time Jack came home (my dad had probably stormed off to a bar), I had two black eyes, a broken nose, and it turned out I had cracked a rib. I was the only one around, no one else could have taken some of the load. And like I said before—I just took it.

Jack realized two things that day. The first thing was, we couldn't live in fear like this for the rest of our lives. Jack would have never been able to leave for college. We would always have to be together, looking out for each other. He realized we had to get away from him, really get away. For good.. We couldn't ever talk to him again.

The second thing was that all those years Jack tried to get me to leave when our dad was mad, when he tried to take the full blow and I didn't let him, well, I probably saved Jack's life a couple of times. Our dad could have killed either of us all those times if we were alone. He probably would have come home drunk and have killed me then. But he didn't get a chance, because Jack decided right then that we were leaving. We packed our clothes and that was it. Nothing else mattered. We went to live with one of Jack's friend from high school that had graduated last year. It was close enough to still be in our home town, but far enough way to be clear of our dad.

We had survived childhood because we were together.

Now I had to start living for myself.

**XXXXXXXXXXX**

**So what did you think? All reviews are welcome. Plus, if you cold tell me some dates, like when the team leaves for Europe or when the Games start, that would be a big help. Just the months would be fine. Thanks!**


	3. These Images That Fill My Head

**Peachy65 and hockeychick19: Thanks for reviewing, I really appreciate it! **

**What are you doing up here? Start reading! **

**XXXXXXXXXXXX**

I crumpled up paper number one million out of my sketchbook. What was wrong with me? I was laying on my bed in my dorm, trying to draw Silky. He was sitting at my desk on the other side of the room, reading a book. It was _Psycho,_the book that the horror movie was based off. After I had seen the movie I bought the book and had just convinced Silky to read it. He had been talking to me about his "crazy" coach, and I couldn't take another second. My plan worked; he was completely absorbed. Since the moment was so rare I decided to document it by drawing it (plus the light from the window hit him perfectly). Usually, I could never nail it on my first try, but this was getting ridiculous.

"Ugh," I grumbled, looking at the litter surrounding me. "Everything sucks!"

"What are you doing?" Silky asked me without even turning around.

"Nothing. Shut up." I told him and started at a new blank piece of paper. I only had a few pages left. That was not good; I needed the book for college too.

I didn't know what had been up with me lately, but it was like I couldn't focus. I kept getting distracted in classes, even the ones that I enjoyed. Blake was noticing it too. I guessed it had something to do with Nolan showing up out of the blue. All week he had been hounding me. I was good at hiding and avoiding people so most of our interactions went like this:

"Come on, let's talk. Please." (Nolan)

"Get away from me, jerk off." (Me) "And your fly is down." I would tell him so he would look down to inspect his zipper, and I would take advantage of this by running away. Blake was still the only one who knew anything about it.

"They're going to find out sooner or later." she kept warning me when I refused to tell Jack or anybody.

"Maybe so, but later is better than sooner." I would retort.

I slammed the sketchbook close (or slammed it as much as one can slam a half-inch notebook) and stuffed it under my bed. Then I threw the pencil and it hit the opposite wall. Silky still didn't turn around. He was acting very weird.

A key rattled in the lock, and Blake walked in.

"You will not believe my day!" She threw her purse and keys on her bed. Then she noticed Silky. "Oh. Hi." she said to the back of his head.

"Hey, dumb ass!" I said and threw a balled-up piece of sketchbook paper at him. I had plenty.

"Wa. . .?" he asked, grabbing the back of his short, dark brown curls. Then he noticed Blake and jumped to his feet.

"H-hi,"

"Silky, Blake. Blake, Silky." I introduced.

"You can call me Dave, you know. . .if you want." Silky said. I rolled my eyes. Everyone called him Silky except his mom or. . .something.

"Are you on the hockey team?" Blake asked.

He beamed. "Yeah, how—how'd you know?"

"I told you," I said flatly.

"I know things." Blake said, paying no attention to me. She batted her long eyelashes. Silky smiled his big goofy grin. Blake was practically swooning. It was the worst thing I'd ever had to sit through.

"Could you two contain the mush?" I asked politely. They were still staring at each other.

Blake snapped her head in my direction. "Isn't there something you want to tell him, Cal?"

Silky looked at me expectantly. There was no way I was telling him anything.

"No. There isn't anything that I can think of."

"Well I, uh, better go." Silky said while I ignored Blake's frantic messages she was signaling to me with her eyebrows. He stepped through the door then turned around, holding up my book. "Can I—"

"Yeah, yeah, keep it. Get out of here."

He nodded. "Bye Cal. And Blake." He took off down the hall. Blake threw herself on the bed next to me, making all the paper bounce.

"I'm not mad at you."

"Great," I said absentmindedly, picking at a rip in my comforter.

"Don't you want to know why?"

"You have no reason to be,"

"Yes, I do! You still didn't tell him about Nolan, but I'm not mad at you."

I blew my shaggy bangs off my forehead, wishing this would end. I could almost feel her edging me to ask more even though I had no desire to.

"Okay! Why?" I snapped.

"_Him."_She looked at me as if I was missing several hundred brain cells. "He's adorable."

"Ew."

Before speaking, she pulled a wad of paper from under and gave me a look. "What do you mean 'ew'?"

"He's my best friend. There's no way he's ador—don't even say it."

"So you wouldn't mind if. . ?"

"It would be weird."

"Well, maybe some other time." She got off my bed and examined it. "What _were_ you doing?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Does the team have practice tonight?"

"I don't know."

"Are they hanging out at that bar?"

"I don't know."

"Jenna Marie O'Callahan! Can you converse with other humans?"

"Who told you?" I yelled, standing up on my bed.

"No one. . ." she said nervously, not looking straight at me. I jumped off and pinned her arms to her back before she could think to run away. "Cal! I'm sorry, okay?"

I didn't budge. "Talk!"

"Jim! It was Jim! He told me when I was looking for you." I let go of her.

"I'm going to kill him."

"But he's so sweet—"

"I'm going to kill him!" I repeated.

"I'll sit this one out." Blake sighed and took a seat on the edge of her bed. "I hope you don't get arrested for man slaughter."

"Thanks for your consideration,"

I ran all the way to Jimmy and Silky's dorm. When I got there, I threw the door open.

"You!" I yelled at Jimmy. "Are a traitor!"

"We don't have time right now, Calster." Silky said pushing past me with his hockey bag over his shoulder. "We're late for practice." Jim followed him as he walked out to the car.

"Why am I a traitor?" Jim asked. I trailed after them.

"WHY? You told Blake my full name!"

"Oh, that. Well, she asked me. . .Please let go of my throat, Davey." Jim said. Silky had latched himself onto Jimmy's neck out of shock, apparently.

"You did _what?_" he asked, a few seconds behind.

"I told Cal's roommate her full name."

"Are you crazy? In eleventh grade I told my girlfriend, and Cal started black mailing her!"

"That only lasted for like a week!" I said defensively. We were in the parking lot now.

"I'm sorry," Jim said as he opened the back seat car door and threw his bag in. "What's the big deal anyway?" He glanced at me over his shoulder before sitting in shotgun.

"I hate it! You know that!"

"How come? It's not ugly or anything."

"Because—because, well. . ." I trailed off. I didn't know. I just hated it. But when it came down to it, I couldn't really say exactly why.

Silky started up the car. "You coming or what?"

"Right, yeah. . ." I climbed in the backseat. They started talking, but I wasn't listening. I was staring at the window, lost in my own thoughts. I think I knew why I hated my name so much. It was my parents name for me and I hated my parents. It was something from my childhood, and I wanted to forget it so badly. I was just Cal. Cal didn't have to have any past. I could just be me, no strings attached.

When I got to the U, I remembered why I had been avoiding going to practices for the past week.

"Hey, Klutz." I stopped dead in my tracks and turned around, my hand frozen in midair where I was about to push the women's bathroom door open.

"Don't call me that." I told McClanahan.

"But it fits you,"

"I am not that clumsy!" I began to walk backwards, pushing the bathroom door open with my back, when my shoe slipped on the rubber under the door and I lost my balance. I landed on my ass.

He snorted with laughter. "Riiight," I just glared at him and started sliding on my butt to get into the bathroom, which only made him laugh harder. Once I was fully inside I stood up and slammed the door close.

It was time for revenge.

Like I said, I was a master at practical jokes. Me and Jack's favorite past time when were kids was pranking our neighbors. I had a lot of practice. After the team went out on the ice, I stuck my head in their locker room. The coast was clear. I found McClanhan's locker, cubby hole. . .thing. His street clothes were hanging on the hook.

"Jack pot," I said to myself and yanked them off. I was just about to make my great escape when,

"What are you doing?"

"Ah!" I swiveled around and accidentally hit Buzz Schneider in the face. He was standing right there.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"I don't like to be sneaked up on!"

"No shit," he said, rubbing his forehead.

"Sorry. What are you doing in here?" Even though Buzz was from Minnesota, he wasn't against Boston. I didn't know him that well but Rizzo did.

"What am _I_ doing in here? I was about to ask you that."

"What? Am I not allowed in here now? Did you guys make up some kind of rule behind my back? Did I—"

"Cal. You're rambling." he interrupted. "What are you doing with Mac's clothes?" I was holding McClanahan's clothes behind my back.

"Oh, what—this?" I held up the clothes. "These—these are _mine_."

"Hmm. . ." He pickedbup a pair of Mac's boxer shorts.

"Oh, um, those. . .those. . ."

"Are Mac's," he finished. "Do you want see him naked?"

"What? No! I'm getting revenge for him pouring beer all over me."

"But if I remember correctly, you punched him first."

"So what?"

"So the beer thing was revenge for that. According to my calculations, you're even now."

I frowned. "Still, you don't wanna see Mac get pranked? Just picture it: 'Were are my clothes? I left them right here!' It would be hilarious."

He started cracking up but then stopped and looked at me seriously. "That's not the point. Everyone is getting tired of you guys bickering all the time."

"Bicker? We don't bicker."

"Yes, you do. All the time!"

"Well, the word 'bicker' makes me think of a married couple or something." Buzz gave me a weird look.

Then McClanhan, my "husband", walked into the locker room.

"Hey Buzzy. . ." he trailed off, looking at me holding his clothes. I dropped them. "What are you doing?" he asked me.

"She's stealing your clothes." Buzzy told him.

"Was!" I corrected. "_Was_stealing your clothes!"

McClanahan raised an eyebrow at me. "Do you want to see me naked?"

I slapped my forehead. "Why does everyone assume that?"

"Just stop taking our clothes!" Buzzy laughed and walked away, leaving McClanahan and I glaring at each other.

"Consider yourself lucky that we're even!"

**XXXXXXXXXXXXX**

A drunk Steve Janaszak walked up to me and flung and arm around my shoulders.

"Don't you wanna see me naked, baby?" he slurred.

"Cal, the great clothes-stealer!" Bill Baker declared across the table, making a mock toast. Rizzo pulled Jannie off of me.

"Be cool, man!" Jannie whined. "Have a drink!"

"Someone take Jannie home," Rizzo called.

"Not it," a bunch of people shouted.

"Oops, I can't find my clothes!" Neal Broten piped up. "Where'd you put 'em Callie?" he must have been drunker than I thought. That wasn't even funny. I was surrounded by intoxicated (yes, I just used the word _intoxicated_) hockey players offering to flash me. While incredibly entertaining at first, it got annoying fast. Where was your over-protective brother when you needed him?

"Where's OC?" I asked Rizzo, who hadn't left my side since we came to the bar. I guess he predicted this would happen.

"He's busy," He nodded toward a semi-private corner where OC was making out with some girl.

"So you're taking the shift? That's okay, Rizzo. I can take care of myself."

I really didn't want to be watched over all night and he didn't look like he was in the mood to TAKE A FREAKING HINT, so I sighed and stood up. "I'm taking a breather." Rizzo nodded in understanding. I was heading for the door when I ran into McClanahahn. Why does that always happen?

"I hate you," I told him.

"The feeling's mutual. And I knew that."

"I mean, I hate you even more than before!"

"Okay," he said, nodding. "How come?"

"You told everyone about the clothes thing!"

"No, I didn't."

"Then why does everyone know?"

"Things get around fast,"

"Who else could have known?"

"Buzzy was there." I didn't believe him. Buzz didn't strike me as the kind of guy who would chat up everyone on the team.

"Whatever, I'm going outside." I really wasn't in the mood to argue (notice how I don't use the word 'bicker') with him, so I left. I had almost reached the door when I was stopped again. Someone put their hand on my waist and said,

"There you are," I didn't need to turn around to know to know who it was.

"I'm not in the mood, King." I said and removed his hand from my waist.

"King? Why the sudden change? We're closer than that, don't you think?" He tried to make a move on me again, but I pushed him away.

"Who do you think you are?" I said, my voice getting loud fast.

"Babe—"

"Don't call me _babe_. You can't just start hitting on me because you want to get me in bed! You don't do that to someone after what you did and how you treated me for a month!"

"But—"

"Just shut up! I'm so sick of hearing your voice and seeing your face! Don't talk to me again."

I shook my head and made it outside. Finally. It was a relief to be alone. Well, there were some smokers a few feet away, but I didn't mind. For some reason, I liked the smell of cigarette smoke. Everyone thought it was weird. ("Secondhand smoke, that's how people die!" Silky would say. "You're being ridiculous." I'd say. "One day your lungs will collapse and then you'll be sorry!") It was sort of funny actually, how everyone was trying to get me to quit smelling cigarette smoke.

It was a cold night and I was only wearing a T-shirt and shorts. I wrapped my arms around myself. Yeah, it was pretty pathetic; I was giving myself a hug.

How in the world did my worst ex-boyfriend end up going to the same college as me?

"You're out to get me," I muttered, looking up at the dark sky.

"What?" Without my noticing, McClanahan had walked outside and I'm pretty sure he thought I was talking to him. I sighed and leaned against the wall. _I knew it._

"I said you're out to get me." I repeated louder. So there was more than one person who was.

"I was thinking the same thing about you." he said. I crossed my arms in front of my chest and looked back up at the sky. There were a million stars, shining too bright. How could they shine so bright when I was depressed? I swear God was mocking me.

"Who the hell was that guy?" McClanahan asked.

"What guy?"

"That guy that was talking to you." He jerked his thumb toward the door of the bar.

"He's nobody,"

"It sounded like you knew him."

"Could you not listen in on my conversations? Thanks."

He coughed. "I'm going back inside. See ya, O'Callahan."

"Whatever."

After a few minutes my teeth started chattering so I went inside to get a drink. But as I was walking up to the bar, I stopped. It was weird, it had never happened before—but yes—I didn't feel like a drink anymore.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_I wake up for no reason at all. I know something is wrong. I stare at my ceiling through the thick darkness, waiting. I hear someone moving around downstairs. I know it's my mom. She's leaving. I just know it. My heart starts pounding against my chest and I can feel the blood surging in my ears. I count my heartbeats, trying to clam down. It's nothing, I try to tell myself. My heart is beating too fast to count._

_I close my eyes but they won't stay shut. I turn over but I can't get comfortable. I can still hear noise downstairs. It's no use. Sleep is too far away now._

_I get out of bed and I don't even think. I'm going to stop her. I go down the stairs in my socks. My feet slip against them and I almost fall. It's a warning. I know I shouldn't be doing this, but it's too late. I can't go back now._

"_What are you doing?" I ask my mother. There's a suitcase by the door. I see something and wish I hadn't. Three's a bus ticket sticking out of her purse._

"_Why are you up? You should be in bed." she tells me like everything is normal._

"_So are you."_

"_Go back to bed, Jenna." She always calls me Jenna. My friends at school had called me Cal since first grade, so Jack and my dad started also. But she never has. She told me so much just by calling me Jenna._

"_Where are you going?"_

"_No where," she heads for the door. My time is running out. My heart will never stop beating this fast. I will never be able to get enough air into my lungs. I'll never have enough time. She's leaving and then she'll be gone. Forever._

"_Yes, you are! You're leaving!" I can't let her leave. I'm only eleven. I need her, I need a mom. I try to block the door. I stand in front of it. "I won't let you,"_

"_Move out of the way."_

"_No," I start crying. The tears are hot and wet, they ran down my face and neck. I don't wipe them away. "No, I won't let you!"_

"_I have to go, don't you understand? I have to go." How could I understand? I was so young. Maybe I did, way in the back of my mind. But I was sad. I was so scared._

_She pushes me out of the way and opens the door._

"_You can't go!" I sob and grab her arms, holding onto her. She starts crying, too._

"_Please let go," she begged. I wouldn't. "I have to go. You'll understand. . .I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." she said that over and over again, apologizing, as she tore from my grip and walked to the car. Those were the last words she said to me; "I'm sorry."_

_I cry as I watch her car disappear into the darkness. I can't see clearly, everything is blurring into one another. My throat and eyes hurt, my whole face is wet and chapped. I really can't see anything now, and I don't know if I ever will. I don't know if I will ever be able to see clearly again for the rest of my life. . ._

I was falling from a thousand feet in the air, and I land in my bed. My eyes flash open. I'm awake, gasping for air. It took me a full minute to realize that it was a dream, that I'm lying in my bed. In Minnesota. Far, far away from Charlestown.

It was a reoccurring dream. I could have it a few times a month and it would be exactly the same because it actually happened. It's not really a dream at all, but a memory. It was the last time I saw my mom. Of course, I don't want to think about it voluntarily. I want to forget that night so much, but I can't because the whole thing replays over in my mind. I can remember every word that was said, everything that happened. They're no fuzzy moments, nothing's unclear.

I always wake up with tears pouring down my face, crying and I can never stop. Even though I know the dreams over and that it happened so long ago, it was as if everything I had ever done wrong, all the things that were missing from my life, the fact that I would never and could never be as good as everyone else—comes pouring out. I get this feeling. This horrible, horrible feeling that I can't name. It's like I have a gaping hole in my heart, getting bigger and bigger, spreading throughout my body until I'm nothing, until I'm not there anymore. And that no one would care, no one would hardly notice.

It's not the only dream like that that I have. Another one comes to me just as often. In that one I can't move, my whole body is stiff. It's not really a memory but a bunch of memories and emotions mixed into one. I'm standing in the kitchen of the house in Charlestown and my feet feel glued to the floor. My dad's in front of me and he's drunk, I can tell. I know I'm little because he towers over me. He's talking and talking, telling me I'm the reason he drinks so much and my mother left because of me. He tells me that I'll never be anything and my dreams are stupid. I want to cry but nothing comes out. I feel sick, the inside of my stomach is rotting.

Then he reaches out and hits me on the shoulder and I can feel the blow. It travels up my arm and through my whole body. I shake from the pain. I usually wake up then. I sit bolt upright in bed so fast I feel like I woke up that way. And I'm sweating, my clothes are damp. But I'm cold, really cold. Freezing. I feel sick just as I did in the dream. My stomach is doing somersaults. But I don't just feel bad, I feel weird. I feel like I'm still a helpless little kid living in a seven room house in Charleston, Massachusetts. Sometimes it takes all morning—when I'm eating breakfast and walking too school—to shake that feeling off, to remember what happened and where I am now.

It was the first reoccurring dream/nightmare/memory that I had since moving to Minnesota. Almost every other night I was so tired I fell asleep right away. Or I was drunk. I was trying to avoid them because I didn't want Blake to hear me. I could stay up late studying or doing homework so I would have a short, dreamless sleep.

I should have known it was coming that night. I left the bar early so I wouldn't change my mind about the drinking thing. Blake was on a date and I didn't have anything to do, so I just went to bed. I should have had a drink.

I smothered my face in a pillow so I wouldn't wake up Blake with my blubbering noises. _It's okay,_ I told myself. _You're in your dorm at the University of Minnesota_. I looked around just to make sure. The electric alarm clock on my nightstand read 2: 27am in florescent red numbers. The framed photograph of me, OC, Silky, Rizzo and Jimmy with our arms around each other on my last birthday was there. Blake's dark hair was sticking out of her blanket. Everything's the same. It's okay.

I still felt terrible, though. I felt alone. Not just alone, but in the sense that I was the only person in the universe that didn't feel whole. No one else was half empty. Not half full, half empty. No one could comfort me. Nobody even knew that I had those dreams. I told myself—and everyone assumed—that Jack and I didn't lie to each other and we knew everything about one another. That's only half true. I've never lied to Jack. I mean, he doesn't ask me; "Hey Calster, any haunting dreams lately?" I've never had to. He knew when I didn't want to talk about something. But Jack didn't know everything about me. He didn't know that I was still wasn't really happy (not that I knew what that felt like). He didn't know that I still felt abandoned and un-wanted. I won't ever tell him because he'll think it's his fault, and it's not at all. Jack was the best thing in my life. Thank God I had him as a brother. I didn't know where I'd be without him. He could be a lot of things, but he would always be my brother. He had been there when everyone else left.

But no matter how hard he tired, he could never make up for the fact that everyone had left in the first place.

For as long as I can remember, hockey had been sort of an escape for me. I learned to skate when I was two, and started holding a stick when I was three. I could barely hold it, it was so big, but I loved it anyways. I played pond hockey a lot. Any type of hockey actually and I was there. Everyone always said I was a natural. The best part was that when I skated, I could forget everything on my mind. I couldn't sleep after I had that dream. It was no use trying. I couldn't even stay still for a minute. I'd rather do _something _than nothing, and usually if I did something I'd get tired and want to go to sleep.

I threw on some sweats and got out my ancient pair of skates just as the sun was coming up. I hoped the U opened early. I'd had my skates since high school and when I got them they were already old. Jack's hand-me-downs. I loved them anyways. I slipped into OC and Rizzo's room. I grabbed a stick leaning against the wall and threw it over my shoulder. I was all set.

It turned out the U didn't open early, but a janitor saw me and let me in.

"People like you always come," he told me. I thanked him and went to the rink the team always used. I traded my shoes for skates and borrowed a hockey puck. At first I just went up and down the ice, carrying the puck with me. I took some shots on an empty net. They all went in, of course. I was working up a good sweat when I noticed someone was watching me. Coach Brooks was by the benches, silently watching me. I stopped.

"Oh, is it time for practice?" I asked. "I can get off."

"No, you're fine. I always come in early. You're O'Callahan's sister?"

"Yeah. You can call me Cal."

"I couldn't help but notice; you're pretty good."

I tired my best to keep my face from cracking into a huge smile.

"Thanks," I said and bit my lip.

"How long have you been playing?"

"Ever since I can remember, Coach."

"You're better than the boys! I wish I could have women on my team."

"So do I, Coach."

"If you don't mind it would be a big help if you gave them some pointers," I couldn't tell if he was joking or not, but I laughed anyways. I_hoped_ he was joking. "Carry on," He let me be, but my eyes were already feeling heavy. I yawned. I was about to skate off, when someone else came. It was McClanahan, and for some reason that didn't surprise me. He was all geared up and it looked as if he was going to get some extra practice time in.

"What are you doing here?" he asked me.

I waved my stick in the air. "_Um,_ I don't know—playing hockey." Could he hear the 'duh' tacked onto the end of that sentence?

"You play hockey?"

"What is this—obvious day?"

"Okay, okay, I get it. I just didn't know girls played hockey." He swung his leg over the boards and skated out.

"That's a pretty sexist comment."

"I mean, I've never _known_ any girl that's played. I don't know how _you_ do it. You can't even walk correctly. How can you skate?"

Actually, I was all grace on skates. No one else got it, but I did: When you skate you glide, when you walk you're pounding your feet on the ground and hope you're body moves forward along with them.

"I'm a pretty good skater, McClanahan."

"Really?" he said like he didn't believe me, starting to warm up.

"Yeah. As a matter of fact, your coach just said I was better than you."

"I highly doubt that."

"It's true. . ." I said and failed to stifle a huge yawn.

"Klutz, are you getting tired just _watching_ me? Don't make me blush."

"I'll _really_ make you blush," I muttered under my breath.

"Muttering angrily, is that the best you can do?"

Voices started floating in the rink as all the guys on the team started coming in. I guess McClanahan wasn't as early as I thought. I decided I better leave. McClanahan couldn't comment because it was suddenly really loud and his friends were trying to talk him. I slipped out, unnoticed.


	4. Agitate My Nerves

July was over and August was staring. The team was having loads of practices. Usually every day of the week besides Saturday. Since the guys were seeing so much of each other, the tensions were getting better. I hadn't heard one complaint about those "Damn Minnesotans" in a couple of days. No one was fighting anymore. Well, no one on the team was fighting with each other, but McClanahan and I were at each other's throats. Every time we saw each other it was, "Move over, fat ass," and "Living up to your name by the way, Klutz." Everyone was expecting it now.

I still had school and that was keeping me almost as busy as the guys. I had made more friends and Nolan pretty much leaved me alone after I had yelled at him.

At the moment, I was walking around the parking lot of the college dorms trying to take artistic pictures in black and white. It was homework for school, and it didn't help that OC was trailing a few feet behind me groaning and sighing every nine seconds. He never understood art the way I did. For me it was the only way to express myself. Right now I wish I could take a picture of OC tripping in the middle of one of his annoying sighs and falling flat on his stupid face. That would have been a good way to express myself.

He had caught me on my way outside, wanting to tell me something. He was aggravated because I wouldn't listen if he told me now (well, he was right about that).

"Cal, this is important!"

"Important how?" I asked absentmindedly, kneeling by a bush and adjusting my lens. The assignment was to take a series of photographs with a theme. I had no idea what I was going to do. I had point zero inspiration so far.

"We have to—really Cal, what is so damn interesting about a dead bush?"

"Shut up and leave me alone."

"Stop with the clicking! It's driving me up the wall!"

"Alright!" I said and slung the camera strap around my neck. Nothing I shot was working. I was tired of this not-being-able-to-focus-thing. "Alright. What is it?" I stood up and turned to face him.

"Rizzo's upset,"

It was easy to tell when Rizzo was upset because otherwise he was always smiling and cracking corny jokes. He was a horrible liar and couldn't really bottle up his feelings. He should take some lessons from me.

"How come?"

"He's not over Amy,"

_Amy?_ Oh yeah, Amy was his girlfriend back in Boston. They ended it when Rizzo made the team because neither of them wanted to have a long distant relationship.

"Why did this come up all of the sudden?"

"Are you kidding me? He's been upset for a while now, it's just as its peak at the moment."

I chewed on my lip. I hadn't noticed anything. "So what are we—I mean, what do we do?"

"Ramsey is celebrating his birthday at Buzz's place. I think seeing the boys will cheer him up and you getting along with the Minnesotans would make his day."

"When did you get so thoughtful?"

"Actually it was Jimmy's idea, but he can't make it. He's not feeling. . .up to it." I didn't really know what that meant, but OC didn't look like he wanted to talk more about it.

"What about Davey?"

"He's busy,"

"Okay, I'm getting absolutely no where here."

**XXXXXXXXXXX**

Rizzo _was_ upset. I couldn't believe how much an idiot I was for not noticing it before. He was quiet during the car ride so I said,

"I actually think I'll like some of the other guys," In the front view mirror I saw OC's reflected eyebrows shoot up. I pretended to accidentally kick the back of his seat.

"What about you, OC?"

"Yeah, yeah. Sure."

As we pulled up to Buzz Schneider's apartment building, large dark clouds had accumulated in the sky.

"Let's get inside," OC said nervously. He was afraid his hair would get messed up. He was pretty obsessive about his "golden locks" (his words not mine). I liked to tease him about it. I sneaked up behind him and gave him a noogie.

"Cut it out!" he whined, swatting at me.

"Hands on head!" Rizzo ordered. Embarrassingly enough, our hands shot to our heads. Rizzo said that when we started fighting. He probably felt like we needed more parenting.

"Will there be girls?" OC asked as we walked inside.

"Probably,"

"Man," he furiously started rubbing his hair and glared at me.

I shrugged. "Sorry," I wasn't sorry at all.

Rizzo lead us in Buzz's apartment. It was crammed with more people than it seemed like it could accommodate. If I wasn't careful I was going to fall on an air molecule and get trampled.

"I'm gong to find a bathroom," OC said and walked off.

"Hey, guys!" Buzzy walked up to us. "Thanks for coming. Are the rest of your boys here?"

"Silky and Jimmy couldn't make it. OC is in the bathroom because. . .never mind."

"Cal, meet my wife," Buzz put an arm around a pretty woman that looked my age.

"This is Cal, Jack's sister,"

"Hello," she said, smiling. "Nice to meet you."

"You're married?" I asked. I had never heard about this before. No one tells me anything around here.

"Yeah. Newly weds, actually. I think Rammer's over there opening presents." He gestured over his shoulder.

"Presents?"

"Aw, don't worry about it. He didn't want any anyways." As Rizzo and I started towards the living room, I put my hand on his shoulder.

"This'll be fun, right?"

"Jack told you about Amy," he stated. It wasn't a question.

"Yeah. Have you tried to call her or anything?"

"Yes, but she's not answering."

"Maybe she's not over you either and is mad at you for breaking up with her."

"To be honest, she broke up with me more than I broke up with her." He shrugged. "Let's just have fun tonight, okay?"

I smiled. "Good idea," I didn't show it, but I was pretty relieved. Touchy-feely talks weren't exactly my thing. "Let's go see what The Ram is up to." Rammer was squeezed between people on the living room couch. A circle of people were surrounding it. There were shouts of,

"Open mine, Rammy!"

"No me first!" It reminded me vaguely of a first grade birthday party. Rizzo sat on the couch where McClanahan, Eric Strobel and Bill Baker were sitting. Instead I took a seat at the table behind it.

"Baby steps," I faintly heard him mutter.

"Callie, how ya doing?" Mark Pavelich said, clapping me on the back. Pav, John "Bah" Harrington and Phil Verchota were sitting at the table also. "I can call you Callie right?"

"Sure,"

"As long as you call me Pav. You have to call me Pav."

"Call me Bah, Callie. Please, please." He pretended to pout.

"Okay, don't piss yourself. I'll call you Bah."

"You can call me Sex Machine." Verchota said and put an arm around me.

"So," Pav rested his chin on his fist and looked right at me. "Do you have something against us?"

"Why do you say that?"

"We're not blind, Cal."

"You don't like the guys from Minnesota."

"Well, um, it's nothing against you personally. Just _som e_people." My eyes wandered to the couch that McClanahan was sitting on.

"But that's hurts our feelings too," Verchota said and looked at me with puppy dog eyes.

"Let's make a deal," Bah said, leaning back in his chair. "You don't decide we're bad people until you actually know us."

I had no problem with that. I didn't want to come off as prejudiced because I wasn't. I didn't know these guys, so I shouldn't hate them. I shouldn't like them either but they seemed all right.

"Sounds good to me. But you have to get to know me, too."

"That's okay, we already like you." Pav said and grinned.

They were funny and nice (and very talkative), but for some reason the back of McClanahan's head was really distracting. I never noticed before, but he had nice hair. It was brown, almost black, with the occasional golden highlight. Sometimes he ran his hand through it, which made it feather out. It was probably really soft. . . What was I thinking? Had I lost my mind? I needed to get out of here before I started having other weird. . .thoughts. I told Pav, Bah and Verchota that I had left something in the car.

"Don't stay out too long!" Bah told me and winked.

On my way out the door, I met Mark coming in.

"Oh hey, Mark." I said.

He flashed me that signature smile of his. "Not leaving already?"

"No, I was just stepping outside for a minute."

"It's raining like cats and dogs out there," His eyes twinkled even in the dim light of the hallway. For a moment I was just staring at his eyes, and I guess he was staring at me. Then Buzz's apartment door opened. It was McClanahan. Of course.

He glanced at me and then Mark in about half a second. I could have imagined it. "I left my car window open." he told us.

"Your seats are probably soaked, Man." Mark chuckled a little.

"Yeah, I know." He turned to me. "Come help me, Klutz." He grabbed my arm and lead me to the front of the building.

"What are you doing? I don't want to help you,"

"Don't you like rain?" We stopped just outside the front doors. I didn't say anything because the question caught me off guard. I _did_ like rain. I loved the way it sounded, the way it looked and smelled. I was raining so hard you could barely see ten feet in front of you. The drops bounced off the pavement, making the ground look less solid than it should.

"Shit," he said, peering through the glass door. Most people probably wouldn't even want to step outside. "Ladies first," he opened the door and pushed me outside. Almost immediately I felt soaked.

"Where's your car?" I asked McClannahan over the sound of the rain once he got up enough courage to come out.

"That's a good question," I rolled my eyes and shoved my hands in the pockets of my jean jacket. I had the worst luck in the world. We started walking and I tried to be extra careful not to fall. Puddles and I did not mix very well.

"Here we are!" Mac said, walking up to an old car. The window on the driver's side was open. He touched the car door handle. "Gross, mud." He reached over and wiped his hand on my shirt, leaving a streak.

"Hey!"

There was a puddle right by us, so I jumped in it, splashing water all over him. In actuality it was pretty pointless; we were both so wet I could feel my hair sticking to my scalp and so was his. But it seemed to bug him anyways. He chucked a blob of mud at me. I threw a chunk of mud back at him. Then it was full-out mud fight and pretty soon we were both very out of breath and very dirty. I wiped my hand in a pile of mud and waved it in Mac's face.

"Ew, get away from me!" I didn't. He grabbed my arms and shoved me backwards. I lost my footing and fell. He thought it was just hilarious and started cracking up. Me? I wasn't laughing so much. I had hit my head on the car on my way down and it hurt. A lot. I didn't get up right away.

"Um, are you all right? He asked uncertainly. I didn't answer, I just held my head in my hands. He knelt by me and as soon as he got close enough, I wiped my muddy hand on his cheek.

"Gotcha!"

"Hey, no fair!" I jumped up and dashed across the parking lot. He chased me and only managed to grab the back of my jacket when we had circled the lot twice. I took a sharp turn, trying to loose him, when a lamp post suddenly sprung up out of no where. I dug the heels of my beat up Chuck Taylors into the blacktop to avoid having a collision. I wasn't worried about them getting dirty; they were already falling apart. I tended to keep things until they were absolutely useless.

He ran into my back and fell down, and since he was holding onto me I fell right on top of him. Neither of us could stop laughing. Then we realized that our bodies were pressed up against one another.

"Yuck!" I rolled off of him but continued laughing. My stomach hurt I was laughing so hard. From my place on the ground, I looked at McClanahan. He was laying on his back, laughing up to the sky. His _normally attractive _hair was sticking up at odd angles and blotted with mud. His gray t-shirt was sticking to his body and I could see right through it.

Holy Lord. I wondered what I looked like.

I wiped my wet bangs out of my eyes and lay down right next to him. I let my laughter slip into his and I imagined the sound floating up, up and reaching the sky, weaving in and out of one another while it went. What a wacko thought. Maybe it was the fumes from my the sharpie that I had shoved up my nose this morning to make Blake laugh (I'm not going to lie, for the smell too), but I swear it started to sound like the rain falling.

Something was about to happen. I could feel it. My heart started beating but not loud enough to drown out the sound of our voices. His left arm was against my right arm. I was afraid to move. I tired to stand up, to get away from him, but I couldn't. He didn't get up either. The moment was building, something had to happen.

_BOOM!_ A loud crack of thunder broke the sound of the pattering rain just as white hot lighting flashed. It was so loud I felt it in my chest, rattling. For some reason, I was silently thanking God that it had happened at the perfect second. I was already on my feet, having jumped up a beat after the thunder and lighting. It looked and sounded like it came from really close to us. Across the parking lot, near the building. We were by the bushes and trees that surrounded it. How had we gotten this far away? How along had we been out here—alone?

"We should get inside," I said without looking at him. That had felt really odd. I felt happy right then, blissfully and perfectly happy. That had never happened to me before with anyone. It was weird and different and I hated it.

Mac cleared his throat and sat up also. "Yeah. It's getting bad out here." I was already walking back towards the apartment. I wanted to shake all the sensations that I just had. Before I reached the front doors, as if on an impulse, I turned abruptly and headed the other way. I didn't know what I was doing until I saw the car I had driven over in. Without thinking or stopping, I opened the door and took out my camera from the backseat. I tucked it under my jacket and walked with McClanahan back inside.

I had my idea. . .

**XXXXXXXXXXXX**

A few days later, I got my photography project back in it's black wooden frame. There were three black and white pictures; all of McClanahan. One was his profile, water dripping from his nose while he dried his hair with a towel. The one in the middle was him looking at me over the camera, laughing at one of my jokes. The last one the towel was hanging around his neck, his shirt was off and he was leaning over and wringing out the leg of his jeans. His hair was falling into his eyes. I had shot them in the lobby of Buzz's apartment, where we borrowed towels from the cleaning lady. I didn't want to be alone with him anymore, but I got a brilliant idea and had to take advantage of it.

The overall affect was really nice, and I was proud of it. It might have been some of my best work, even.

When my teacher handed it back to me, there was a big old piece of yellow paper stuck to it with the letter **B** written in one of those red teacher markers. I couldn't believe it. B? Really? I angrily jammed it into my bag and headed for my dorm since it was the last class of the day. Oh yeah—did I mention I a bump the size of a hockey puck grew on my forehead overnight? It was from hitting my head, playing in the mud with Mac.

Err, did I just say 'Mac'? That was weird. I mean McClanahan.

On my way to the dorms, I realized something. I couldn't just carry around a gigantic frame full of pictures of McClanahan. That was just gross. Besides, everyone would think I had lost it. McClanahan didn't even now about it. I told him that I _migh t_use the pictures. Actually, I think my exact words were: "I already have a set of pictures already. This is just in case I loose the film or something. Maybe I'll show these to all my friends and say, "Hey, look at this alien I found."

Yeah, he wasn't exactly expecting it.

My plan was to burn the evidence, but when I got home Silky and OC were there talking with Blake. They had plans to go over to Pav's place for dinner and a few rounds of poker. Blake wanted to meet some of the other guys. So I had to carry my bag with me. I held it on my lap the whole way, hoping no one would ask: "What's that big, angular shaped object in your bag?" Fortunately, no one did. When we got to Pav's, only a few people were there; Silky, OC, Dave Christian, Steve Christoff, Blake and I of course and then Bah showed up. We all sat around the kitchen table drinking beer, eating pizza and playing gin rummy. Everything was cool. I'm sure it was kind of strange for some of the other guys to see two dudes who had been clobbering each other joking around and playing cards.

When Blake and I first walked in she nearly broke two of my ribs nudging me. "Look at them! I knew all hockey players were hot."

"That's just an urban legend." I scoffed.

"That makes no sense. Which one do you like the best?"

"I don't know, who cares? "

"I think Dave is still my favorite." They liked her as much as she liked them. Pav kept flirting with her and Silky kept rolling his eyes and acting like he didn't care. Blake was horrible at any kind of card game so halfway through our second or third game Pav stood up and said, "I'll take the fine lady out on a walk."

"A _walk?_" Several people asked.

Pav ignored us and held his arm out to Blake. "I think that's very sweet of you, Mark."

"There's too many Marks," Dave Christian told her.

"Then what do you call him?"

"Butt Face," he answered calmly.

"Really?" was all McClanahan said while I snorted with laughter. I couldn't help it. It was funny.

"Let them go. Have fun on your _walk._" OC said smugly.

McClanahan drew another card. "YES!"

"Nice poker face,"

"Shut it, Klutz. What happened to your face, by the way?"

"Nothing happened to my face," I said through gritted teeth, momentarily forgetting about the piece of sports equipment lodged into my skull.

"Oh sorry. I guess you've always looked that way."

"Ha ha," I said sarcastically. "Gin,"

"Man," Bah threw down his hand. "Great. Now I'm officially broke. I have a total of eight dollars to my name."

I was broke too. Maybe I could finally get a new sketch pad and some new paint brushes. Heck, if I gambled enough with these idiots I could pay off my student loans.

"I quit," Silky humphed.

"My own flesh and blood," OC shook his head as I stuffed a ten dollar bill from his wallet into my back pocket.

I felt the right corner of my mouth curling upwards. It was my smirk. OC had the same smirk. It was known as the O'Calllahan Smirk. Okay I just made that up, but it should have a name. Apparently it was very seductive to the opposite sex.

I continued smirking and momentarily wondered where I had gotten it. I think it was my dad. One of my secret wishes was for someone, anyone to say, "Oh, you look so much like your father when you make that face!" Or "Oh, you sounded exactly like your mother just then." But I didn't have a family like that. Nobody ever said anything good about me growing up. It was embarrassing but fortunately I knew no one would believe that I wished those kinds of things. I remembered where I was and said, "Good times,"

"You really know how to play 'em, Callie." Bah remarked.

"Yes, we've finally found something Klutz is good at." McClanahan said. OC laughed. I glared at both of them. "What? I was only complimenting you, Cal."

"I'm good at other things,"

"Like what? Hockey? I sure believe that."

"You haven't even seen me play!"

"I'd like to see you try,"

Silky sighed. "Here they go again," Christian said.

"Let's get out of here before there's bloodshed," OC suggested. They got up and left the room to go watch TV.

"You'd probably fall right on your ass pretty quick." he continued.

"How much you wanna bet?"

We went on like that for a while. Then Blake and Pav came back and she made me go home. I was still shouting at him as I walked out the door.

It didn't hit until a lot later. It was when I was getting ready for bed, but it suddenly just came to me. Back in the apartment—I could have swore—McClanahan said my name. Cal. He just said it: "Cal." He always called me Klutz or O'Callahan, but not that time. I wondered why no one else had said anything. It scared me a little bit. How could he call me Cal when we hated each other? I didn't like it at all, but at the same time I was dying to hear it again.

**Please review! I'd like to know if it's completely horrible or what. ;**


	5. I May Be Ugly But They Love to Stare

**My internet connection has been acting up lately, so that's why it took me longer than usual to get this chapter posted. There might be some mistakes, so sorry about that.**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Living with the most gorgeous and sweet girl on campus was sort of a drag, especially when I felt the opposite of that. Ugly and mean. This morning I was feeling very ugly and mean. Both Blake and I had morning classes, and I really wasn't in the mood for her "Good morning," and smiling all the time. I should have moved in with someone else by now. I didn't like people like her. They were happy all the time for no reason. She was too nice, disgustingly nice.

"Why so serious?" she asked, combing her perfectly tamed hair. Mine was sticking up in every direction. Blake was so perfect I couldn't stand it.

Instead of answering, I went in the bathroom and closed the door, which wasn't much better because there's a mirror in there and I had to look at my ugly face. For as long as I could remember, I've never thought of myself as pretty. But my mom was, I remember that. She was beautiful, and everyone said. She was young, had long golden hair, rosy cheeks, tall—the whole deal. No one could believe she was a mother. Because she wasn't supposed to be one. The only reason my parents got married was because of Jack. Maybe if she hadn't gotten herself knocked up, my mom would have left my dad. I'm pretty sure he had a problem even back then. Then I came along, another accident. She was stuck. I really wanted her to love me. She never told me once, but I did anything and everything I could to try.

The first thing I guess you notice about is my eyes. They're not abnormally big or anything, they just have an odd color. I would describe it as clear blue-gray. Jim has always said that they could never decide what color they wanted to be. In bright light they looked gray, almost see through. But if it was dim, they looked really blue. My mom's eyes. Jack had similar eyes, only his stayed the same color. I liked how no eye color was the same. But when we were kids, and especially when we were together, teachers and old ladies would say, "Look at your magnificent eyes! Where did you get them from?"

"Our mom," we would say proudly. We felt lucky just to bask in her light. Unfortunately, I always felt like an ugly duckling compared to her. I never thought my eyes were cool or pretty because my mom never told me they were. She never said, "I love your eyes! They're just like mine, you know." What other people said meant nothing to me.

My mane of hair is light brown, sort of sandy. My dad had dark hair, so that's where I get it from. While my mom's hair always flowed, mine gets tangled. I swear, it doesn't stay neat for more than thirty seconds. Jack has the same light brownish/dark blondish, sandy hair. As a matter of fact, people say we look alike. I can list the traits we share (wide cheekbones, stout nose, dimpled chin) but when it came right down to it—like if I was looking at a picture of us—I think we look nothing alike. We're just so _different._

Not only do I have a chin dimple like Jack, but there are also small round dimples in my cheeks when I smile. Nolan said that my face was weird. "It looks like someone poked a bunch of wholes in your face," he said once. For weeks I did my best not to smile. I didn't want him to see the dimples in my cheeks. I wanted that bad to please him. I'm still sort of insecure about them.

I've broken my nose at least twice, so there's big bump on the bridge of it. I have thin lips. I think my legs are scrawny and my fingers are too skinny. My voice is annoying. I'm ugly, awkward, nosey, stubborn, selfish, difficult, useless, bothersome, careless, weird, useless and incompetent. I didn't know how anyone could live with—or love—me. Sometimes I felt like a big burden to everyone, just a huge waste of space.

After I got ready I didn't feel like talking to Blake. I went over to Jack and Rizzo's dorm before class started. They had a morning practice today so I'd knew they be up.

I knocked on their door and Jack opened it. "Hey," he mumbled and walked back to the kitchen. I closed the door behind me and followed him. Rizzo was in the shower trying to sing opera, and Jack was eating breakfast and taping his stick at the same time. I slid into the stool across from him at the island and took a piece of toast from the plate in the middle. I started buttering it. I tried to think of who we got our chin dimples from. Was it our mother—or did she have cheek dimples? Or was it our father? What color eyes did he have anyway? What about his hair? What did that look like?

I couldn't exactly remember.

Then I did something I hadn't done in a long time—no, never. I had never done this. I tried to think about what my parents looked like. They're faces, how tall they were, what they wore. But I couldn't do it. All these years, I had acted as if they never existed. I did what I always did when something was wrong—I sopped thinking about it. After my mom left I vowed never to say her name or speak of her again, and same with my father. Now that I wanted to, it was too late. The memory was gone.

I wondered if Jack ever thought about them, if he could still remember them. I hoped I wasn't the only one. We never talked about it. It was a rule: No reminiscing. Our past was completely off-limits. We didn't talk about it because what's the use? It would only make us feel bad.

"Jack?" It came out before I knew what I was doing.

"Hmm?" he asked, still trying to tape his stick.

"Never mind." I took a big bite of toast to muffle the sound in case I lost control of my vocal chords again. But when the toast was gone, I was still itching to ask.

"Jack?" I asked again.

"Yeah?"

"Do you—I mean, _have_ you, um. . ."

"Spit it out already,"

It was the perfect chance. We were alone. Any minute Rizzo would be getting out of the shower. It was now or never. "Do you," I took a deep breath and braced myself for his reaction. "Doyoueverthinkaboutourparents?" I said very quickly. "Our parents" was foreign to my tongue. It must have been years since the last time I said that out loud.

Jack's mood immediately changed. He slammed his stick down on the table. "Why should I?"

"I don't know—"

"They're not worth your time."

"But it's just—" I tired again.

"They're scum is all they are." he interrupted.

"Jack. . ." He had always been angrier at our parents than me because of what they did to _me_. He didn't care about himself.

"No, I'm not having this conversation." He stood up. "Forget it. Please forget everything, Cal."

I knew what he meant.

**XXXXXXXXX**

At school, I still wished that Jack wasn't so afraid to talk about the past, but I was also upset for making him mad. After my first class I headed to the U, so I could cool the ground between us. I knew he wouldn't still be mad at me, but I didn't want it to be awkward.

I saw on the bench next to Coxy. I liked sitting on there because it was closer to the action. Or hockey drills, whichever.

"Hi Callie,"

"Hey Coxy,"

"Don't you have school?"

"What's your point?"

He laughed. "Ditcher,"

"Don't call me a ditcher!"

"You are,"

"I just did it once!" I shoved him.

"Lord, girl, you got some arm." he said, recovering after I nearly knocked him off the bench. "What happened to your face?"

If I had a nickel for every time I heard that one this week. . .

"McClanahan pushed me."

"Oh, of course. It's so obvious, isn't it?"

"What is?"

"That he likes you."

"Are we in elementary school?"

"Well, that's what it's like. You know, the boys tease the girls they like and—" he raised his eyebrows suggestively at me. "—vice versa. He tries extra hard not to look at you. Trust me, I've been with him at the bar and during practices when you're around." Just then McClanahan skated by "See? He didn't look at you but he saw you back there. He likes you."

"He does not "like" me! He hates me and_vice versa."_

"He may hate you, but I think he also likes you."

I was not getting this. "Come again? Haven't you heard us arguing?"

"Some of the guys are saying you argue so much because you have sexual tension."

I literally started choking on my own spit. Coxy pounded me on the back. "Was it something I said?" he asked innocently.

"Yeah!" I said after my coughing fit. "McClanahan and I do not—and I repeat—do _not_ have sexual tension. No way in hell."

"Okay, whatever you say." he said in that sarcastic way which is the most annoying thing in the world.

"I'm serious!"

"I know you are."

I was about to storm off in a giant huff, when Coxy said, "Somebody's in trouble."

I looked and saw Herb yelling at Rizzo for some reason. He was really screaming his head off. My heart skipped a beat. I don't why, but I started to feel sick to my stomach and my head hurt. Herb's yelling reminded me of something or someone, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. I just had to get out of there—away from it.

"I gotta go," I barley managed to say.

"You OK?" I heard Coxy ask, but I was already walking away. I could hardly breath. When I didn't hear Herb yelling anymore, I felt fine.e

**XXXXXXXXX**

I distinctively heard my name. I was sure of it. I was just about to leave the U, in fact, I was heading toward the door when I walked by the team's locker room and I heard it. They were talking about me, you can just tell. I don't think eavesdropping is wrong if people are talking about you. If they are, you should know what they're saying.

I stopped outside of the door and put my car keys on the ground in front of me. It someone came out, it would look as if I had stopped to pick up my keys. It's full proof. I put my head close to the door and listened.

"She _is_ pretty hot," someone said. I couldn't identify the voice.

"Just _ho_t_?_" Whoever was talking had to have the lockers that were close to the door. "Have you seen her body?" I think the Minnesotans had those lockers.

"More like sexy! Hell yeah!" That was Rammer—no, Verchota. Definitely Verchota.

"Okay, whatever. You can have her; OC would kill us if even thought we were having this conversation." the first voice said. I'm pretty sure that was Pav. And I knew they were talking about me.

"He probably figures," the second, who I recognized as Bah, said. "I mean, look at her. He's probably beating boys off of her."

Pav: "What are you saying?"

Bah: All I'm saying is that he wouldn't be surprised if some—like me—went after her."

Verchota: "I don't like where this is going."

Neither did I. I got the hell out of there and was halfway out the parking lot when I heard someone yelling my name.

"Cal! Cal, wait up!" I spun around. Luckily, it was only Mark. I waited for him to catch up. "Hey," he said, sort of out of breath. "I was just wondering. Are you coming to the bar tonight?"

"Um," I didn't really want to go. "I haven't thought about it."

"Why don't you come?"

"Okay," What? I couldn't say no to that smile!

"I'll see you there, then."

"Bye," I got in my car and wondered why Mark was running back inside like a maniac. Then I saw. He didn't have any pants on. He had run out in his boxers.

Boys were so weird.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Blake was with me. That was the last thing I wanted but she was. She didn't deserve to have me mad at her but I was. When we got there I headed straight for the bar. I needed this night to be over as soon as possible so I couldn't forget the hurt look Blake just gave me when I walked away from her. And there were a million other things I needed to forget. Alcohol was magical. It was the only thing that would never let me down.

I was on my third bottle when the bartender interrupted all the thoughts I wasn't having. "You gonna pay for any of those in my lifetime, sweetheart?"

I got my wallet out of my pocket. _What happened to the money I won playing poker?_ I kept looking, even though I knew I was flat broke. I was stalling for time.

"I got it,"

I looked up. Bah threw some money on the bar. "Thanks,"

He looked down at me. "No problem. What are friends for, right?" He was standing really close to me. If I moved I as going to brush against him.

_Slow down,_ I told myself. _Think._ I took a step back and looked around the dingy room. I knew what I was about to do, but I was going to try to stop myself. I saw Blake, Mark and Silky laughing with some other people. I saw OC and thought of how he acted that morning. Then I saw McClanahan flirting with some chick. _None of them cared about me, so I'll just do whatever the fuck I want._

I looked back at Bah. The corner of his mouth was curled up into a smug smile. _Who needs them?_ The one person who didn't think I was a waste of space was standing right in front of me.

I stepped closer to him again. "So Bah. . ."

**XXXXXXXXXX**

**Thanks for reading! Pease tell me what you thought**


	6. I'm Selfish as Selfish Comes

**I ****don't own the movie Miracle. Anything you don't recognize is all mine, though. *evil laughter***

Of course, I knew sleeping with Bah was a mistake right from the start, but it didn't hit me until I woke up in his dorm. I wasn't new to one night stands. I could either drink myself stupid or do it with someone because my self esteem was so low I didn't care who I got in bed with.

I woke up extra early that morning and jumped into my clothes so fast I thought there would be a chance that no on campus would be around. I was wrong. I quietly pushed open the door and stepped into the hallway. I shrugged on my jacket and looked form side to side. It looked empty. I started walking down a flight of stairs that I didn't remember going up when I heard a door opening behind me.

Shit fuck shit. McClanahan was staring at me. He didn't move from the doorway, and I didn't move from the steps. He was looking t me with so much hate I wanted to die. No, I wanted to kill myself.

_Do something._ I yelled inside my head. There was a big, dry lump in my throat. Then the door slammed, and I was alone in the drafty corridor, the sound reverberating inside me.

I dragged myself back to my dorm. I was about to open the door when it flew open. Blake stood there, here hair a mess and eyes crazed. "Where have you been?"

I skulked past her, kicked off my shoes and rolled up in a ball on my bed. "I don't want to talk about it,"

I felt her sit down next to me. "What happened?"

_Did she not hear what I just said?_

I hugged my knees so hard they dug into my chest. Blake put her hand on my shoulder. "Cal, I heard something last night." She waited for me to respond but I was quiet. "Pav told me that he saw you leaving with Bah."

I shoved my head into the pillow as hard as I could.

"Oh Callie, if you ever think of doing something like this again, _please_ talk to me."

"I feel horrible,"

"I know, honey." Blake was so nice.

"I'm sorry I acted like such an ass hole to you yesterday. I'm so, so. . ." What word could I use for someone who was always mad at people that didn't deserve it? "Ugly," I finished lamely.

"You're not ugly."

"I am,"

"Look in a mirror some time. You're not ugly."

Even if I wasn't as ugly on the outside as I thought, I still knew what I looked like on the inside.

**XXXXXXXXXXX**

Later that day, I went to the library on campus so I could catch up on some homework I had been putting off for a while. Blake had suggested it, and I didn't want to argue with her anymore. She didn't deserve my B.S. About fifteen minutes into working, OC came up to the table I was working at in the back.

"Blake told me you'd be here," he explained as he took the seat across from me.

I looked up at him. "What's up?" I could tell something was wrong, though I knew never he would never admit it. We were kind of alike.

He shrugged. "I was bored so I came here."

"Right," I muttered and looked back down at my book. "So how's practice going?"

"Horrible, I hate it. My legs are always sore and I always have a headache from listening to Herb scream. And he's cutting players one after the other."

"You're scared you're going to get cut?" I asked slowly. The thought had never occurred to me before.

"Well, yeah. Everybody is."

"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll be fine."

"I'm pretty much average compared to everyone else.."

"You'll be fine," I repeated to reassure both of us.

"But what if I'm not? Where will I be if I don't make it?"

"You can still get into the NHL."

"The only way I'll feel that anything good came out of being on this team is if we win some kind of metal."

"Good luck with that," I muttered. I hadn't meant for him to hear, but it came out louder than a whisper.

"Gosh, you didn't have to. . .I mean, everybody knows." he mumbled begrudgingly and shoved his face in my chemistry book.

I jumped up. "I'm so sorry, Jack. I can be really stupid, can't I? I don't know what's with me today." I ran a hand through my un-tame-able hair.

He didn't look up. I slid the book across the table so I could look at it. "You're interested in who developed the table of elements are you, OC?"

"Actually, yes I _am_." He yanked back the book.

I sat heavily down in my chair. "I'm really sorry, okay? Okay?"

"You know what?" he looked up suddenly and slammed the book close. "I thought you were different, Calster." He said using the pet name had made up for me, but now it stung. "I thought you believed in me!"

"I do! I always have! You know I'm not like. . .not like, well you know." Our father never believed in Jack's dream. He called him stupid, he shot him down. But I thought he could do whatever he wanted. Without me urging him along, Jack might have never became a professional hockey player. "I said I was sorry!"

"Sorry about what, Cal? Sorry that I'll never amount up to anything? Sorry that the biggest opportunity of my life is a joke? Huh Cal? Is that what you're sorry about?"

"How could you say that? I was always there for you. . ." I felt tears sprang to my eyes. PMS much?

He sighed. "I'm sorry, Cal. Herb's got me really on edge."

"Whatever,"

"I'm getting out of this stuffy library. That librarian over there is giving me dirty looks."

"Okay,"

"See ya, Calster." That time it sounded all right.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

MCcClanahan was ignoring me. I only went to practice because Rizzo's car was in the shop again, and I had to pick the guys up. I didn't want to have to see Bah again after what happened. Besides, my car wasn't much better. A piece of crap I had bought for a couple hundred dollars after I graduated high school. It took up most of my life savings. Good thing I just barely managed to snag a scholarship for Boston University (and so did Jack). I might have bailed on them if Silky hadn't begged me. He kept saying something about us not "talking" enough any more. Whatever that means.

Anyway, back to my main problem. I pulled up in my shitty excuse for a car outside of the U. They were only a few players milling around the lobby. McClanahan was one of them. It looked liked he was waiting for a ride.

"Have you seen. . .?" I trailed off. The look he was giving me could kill. Then I remembered what had happened yesterday.

He shoved his face in a newspaper. My guys were still getting ready so I had to wait for them in the lobby. During that time, McClanahan didn't look my way once and I knew he hadn't developed strep throat and lost his voice because he talked to everyone else. Except me. Of course.

Jim came out and saw me. "Hey, you driving us?"

"Yeah, yeah. McClanahan is totally ignoring me. Watch." I turned to the cluster of Minnesota guys by the door. (MCclanahan was one of them). "Hey guys!" I said. "What's up?" It was the best I had on short notice. A bunch of them mumbled a response or gave me a Have-you-lost-it? look. But McClanahan didn't eve look up.

"Did you see?" I asked Jim. I was standing next to him. "Did you see that? He's ignoring me."

"Maybe he just didn't feel like answering you obnoxious question."

I ignored the insult in that. "Everyone else did. He's ignoring me, I swear."

"Okay Cal, I get it." he said, pushing some hair out of his face.

"Well, why is he doing it?"

"Why do you care so much? You hate him anyways."

"I don't know. . .hey, what's with you today? You haven't been the smiley Jimmy that we all know and love."

"I really don't know, Cal." He said. "Is there anything else wrong? Anything else you want to complain about?"

"What's your problem?"

"Nothing. I'm going to go home."

"Wait a minute—"

"Bye, Cal." I watched him walk out the door, awestruck. Silky came up behind

me.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked accusingly. Man, how many people was I

going to make mad today?

"What did I do now?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. My Boston accent was getting thicker, a sign that I was getting pissed.

"Can't you be a little more sensitive?"

"Sensitive?" I questioned.

"Yeah, it means to have feelings."

"Fuck you,"

"Shut up, Cal. Why don't you stop being so selfish? Did you ever thing what it might be like for Jim right now? His mom just died .Of course that's going to have some affect on him."

"I didn't—"

"No, you didn't think of that, did you?"

"Okay, I get it: everyone's problems are my fault! Hey everyone! If you have any problems, don't worry—they're my fault!" I called to everyone in the room.

I think I needed a drink.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**Please take two seconds to leave a comment!**


	7. I've Been Too Late Too Much This Year

**Hey, happy new year everybody! I know the chapter name is weird (so what's new, right?) but I didn't know what else to call it and it's from a song I really like. Okay, so here's the next chapter. It's not much but I wanted to get something up. If anyone still cares *sigh* Maybe someone will **_**review **_**this time. Hint, hint. If you didn't get the message, I'm trying to get you to take pity on me. **

**XXXXXXXXXXX**

I, Cal O'Callahan (I will NOT be called anything else), hereby declare to be considerate of other people. I will never complain again because people make a big freaking deal when I do (like they never complain).

It was a promise to myself. Those were the hardest kinds of promises because I never kept them. But what Silky said made me really mad. Boy, that made me mad. I didn't talk to him for two days. He acted as if I were some big whiny baby, which I am not. I never complain. If I did, I could go on for two weeks complaining about my stupid life. But I don't. But since everyone seems to think I do, I will never complain again as long as I live.

And I am not selfish. Maybe sometimes I can be, but really, how am I selfish? I always think of my friends before me.

God, am I mad.

Well, I was, but then I realized I hadn't been as honest to Silky as I could have been lately. I usually tell him almost everything. And maybe I haven't really thought about what Jim has been going through because I thought he was over it and I don't understand love for parents. One of my parents might be dead and I might not know about it. But it's not like I would care.

I wouldn't care at all.

I was bit surprised when Silky came to my dorm after practice. But I was relieved and happy at the same time. I wanted to tell him about Bah. I needed to tell him. I needed him to understand and be my friend again.

He threw himself on my bed. He looked exhausted.

"Cal, will you do me a favor?"

"Sure," (Do you see how un-selfish I am?)

"Cut off my legs,"

"Come again?"

"Cut off my legs or do something to me so I will lose the ability to walk."

Lord. I knew a bunch of crazy people.

"Can I ask why you want me to mutilate you?"

"I don't wanna play hockey anymore."

"WHAT?" I threw the bag of chips I happened to be eating at him.

"I'm so tired I can hardly keep my eyes open and my legs hurt like a sons of bitches." he groaned, picking up the bag and starting to eat them. (And _I_complain?)

"Well, that's good."

"How is that good?"

"If it were really serious, you wouldn't be able to feel pain at all."

He rolled his eyes. "My point is that I thought being on the Olympic hockey team would be so great, but now I'm sure I'm going to need knee surgery and serious emotional therapy."

He can be a real drama queen sometimes. "You're lucky you're on the team." I pointed out.

"Yeah, unless I get cut!"

I am gonna kill the next person that says that.

"Who's complaining now?" I asked.

"Alright, I'm sorry I said you complain all the time. Okay? I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

I didn't say anything.

"Okay, Cal? I'm sorry. Will you forgive me?"

"Fine," I grumbled. "Now hand over the chips!"

"Stopf yellfing! I'mma take a nap." he said almost incoherently into the my pillow.

"Look Silky, I have to tell you something." I sat on the edge of the bed. He didn't move so I have him a little kick.

"OW!" He flipped over and glared at me. "Did I not just tell you how much my legs hurt?"

"I have to tell you something." I repeated.

"Later,"

"No. It's serious."

He frowned and sat up. "_You_ want to talk about something serious?" he asked slowly.

"Yes,"

"Okay, well, I'm all ears."

I took a shaky breath. Why couldn't I just come on out with it?

_Do it. Just say it. This is Silky we're talking about. He'll understand._

I closed my eyes and said, "I did something really bad."

"What?" He didn't sound the least bit surprised or worried.

"No, I mean it was really, _really_bad."

His light brown eyes grew about twice in size. "You mean like,_illegal?_"

I shook my head in frustration. "No."

"What else could you have done that _you_think is really, really bad?"

"Promise not to hate me,"

"Cal, I could never hate you. Don't be stupid."

"You gotta promise! Say you promise."

He sighed. "I promise. Now please tell me what it is."

"A few weeks ago. . .well, I—when we were at the bar we always hang out at. . .and I did something really bad."

"You can tell me," he reassured me. "It's only me."

"I know I can," I took a moment before speaking again. "I went home with Bah." I said very quickly.

He furrowed his eyebrows together. "Please don't tell me that's what I think it means."

"Well, yes—"

"Cal! I—how could you—you mean you _slept_with him? I don't even know what to say!"

"Please don't hate me,"

"What the _hell_ were you thinking? Are you in some sort of relationship—?"

"No, no, it was just a one night stand. It didn't mean anything."

He stood up and started pacing around. "I can't even look at you right now!"

"I'm sorry,"

"Are you out of your effing mind?" he yelled. "He's on my team—he's from fucking Minnesota! You are _so_ out of line—of all the stupid things you've done this is the worst! By a long shot! Why the fuck did you get in bed with him, Cal? Tell me! What the fuck were you thinking?"

"I was kind of drunk—"

He took a deep breath and smoothed his hair, trying to calm down. "Wait a minute—_you_ were drunk? Was _he_ drunk?"

"I don't think so. . ."

"I am gonna _kill_ that mother fucker!"

"Silky, hold on. It's not like that. I mean, I knew what I was doing."

He sat back down on the bed and after a moment looked at me and asked, "But he's from Minnesota. And you—how could you do that?"

"I don't know. I guess I thought Minnesotans weren't _so_bad."

"Well, clearly they are."

"You won't tell anyone?"

"You know I won't."

We were quiet for a minute. I rubbed my temples. Whoever said telling the truth makes you feel better was a liar. I was pretty sure my best friend hated me.

"I think someone needs a hug,"

I looked up and smiled. "One of your hugs _would_ be nice right about now."

He moved over on the bed so he could reach me. "Sorry I yelled," he said in a small voice.

"It's okay, I would have yelled too."

"Funny you should say that, because I _did_think Bah was kind of hot when I first saw him."

I cracked up. I knew we would be okay. "Hey, you can have him."

He didn't say anything for a minute then asked quietly, "Was he good?"

"Silky!" I pushed him off me.

"What? I have to scope out my competition for theladies."

I just rolled my eyes.

He punched me lightly on the arm. "Tell me,"

"No," I said firmly.

"Come on, tell me. You know you want to."

"No!" I laughed.

"Okay, you asked for it."

I carefully stood up. "You wouldn't,"

He stood up too. "I wooould. . ." He walked slowly towards me. I started to back away "I think you're going to get a visit from somebody special. . ." he said in a sing song voice.

I continued backing away. "I'm not home right now."

"Oh? Because you know who wants to see you?"

"Nobody wants to see me," I protested.

"It's THE TICKEL MONSTER!"

"NO!" He lunged towards me and I tired to run away bug he grabbed my ankle and I fell forward. I flipped over on my back and he started tickling me under the armpits.

"Stop!" I yelled, laughing hysterically.

"Not until you tell me!"

"No! Stop!"

"Confess! Was Bah good?"

"I'll never tell!"

Then we had a major oh-shit moment. I accidentally kicked the leg of the nightstand by Blake's bed and something fell and broke.

Silky stopped tickling me and we looked at each other. "What was that?"

I shrugged. I couldn't see because he was blocking my view. "OK, we both look on the count of three. Deal?"

He nodded. "Deal."

"One. . .two. . .three."

We looked. The frame that held Blake's high school graduation photo was face down on the floor.

"Oh my, damn," Silky said nervously. "Is it broken?"

"I heard it smash. Did you hear it smash?"

He nodded. "You look. I can't do it."

I turned it over. There was a crack right down the middle of it. A glowing Blake in her cap and gown in between her CPA dad and stay-at-home mother smiled up at me under the broken glass.

"Oh _hell,"_I muttered.

"What do we do? What do we do?" I was afraid he was going to start hyperventilating.

"Calm down. We'll just put it in another frame." I needed to be the collected, mellow one because Silky definitely wasn't going to play that part.

"Do you even HAVE another frame?" he asked.

"I have no effing idea,"

"Well, not that I don't want to stick around and watch how this plays out, but I think I'll go."

"You are _not_ leaving me here!"

"Sorry but I am just completely _drained,_ you know?" He swung his bag over his shoulder and opened the door. "I'll see you later—hold on a sec. I came over here to tell you something. . .oh, yeah. You know how we're going to Europe soon?"

"Um, no."

"Cal, I told you!"

"I have no memory of that."

"Yeah, because you forget anything important anybody tells you. It's practice for the Olympics. You know—" he yawned. "We play teams that—" he yawned again.

"Your point being?" I interrupted, getting slightly impatient.

"Coach Patrick is throwing this going away party thing at the bar this Saturday. So you're coming to say good-bye to us."

"I wanna go to Europe!"

"You have school, young lady! Anyway. Don't forget about the party."

"I won't,"

"Yes, you will. I know you will." He walked over to the calendar Blake had tacked on the wall in the kitchen. He scribbled something huge on it with a pen. "So you'll be sure to see it," he explained. "Make sure Blake comes."

"What for?"

"Because I said so. We'll be gone for like two weeks, so I hope you can survive without Bah."

"Shut up!"

"I'll make sure he calls you every night."

"Sil-_ky!_ That's not funny!"

"But I would be worried if I were you," he continued. "I mean, there'll be plenty of gorgeous European girls there. I'll keep an eye on him for you."

"I hate you!"

He laughed, then noticed the serious look on my face. "Too soon?"

"Ya think?"

"Bye!" He waved and closed the door.

Douche.

I sighed and looked at the broken picture frame. I placed it carefully back on the nightstand, then left a note.

_I owe you one picture frame._

—_Cal_

_(Do you want to go to a party?)_

I thought it was a good time to run some errands.

I didn't normally go grocery shopping but there was nothing else I could think of to do and I didn't want to be home when Blake discovered her broken picture frame.

Yeah, yeah—I know I'm pathetic.

Blake had been keeping this glass sugar jar on the kitchen counter and labeled it HOUSE KEEPING JAR. She said that at her house they always kept a jar in the kitchen where people put spare money for the family. Up until now, I had never taken from it because I felt weird. At my house, you had to fight for your money. Heh heh.

But we were pretty low on food so I decided that I would go to the local grocery store and stock up for the winter. I sort of got carried away and bought a little bit of everything. Maybe I shouldn't have taken the whole jar with me. Ah. . .well.

I struggled to carry up my bags and bags of food. I had to use my head to knock on the door because I couldn't knock with my hands, let alone get my key out.

"Blake?" I called. "You there? Can you open the door? Please?"

The door opened. "What the hell are you doing?" Blake asked.

"Um, help?" I asked weakly. She took half of the stuff and threw it on the counter. I did the same.

"What is all this?" she asked, trifling through it.

"Food," I said proudly, sitting heavily down in one of the kitchen chairs. "Proud of me?"

"And why exactly should I be proud of you?"

"I went shopping!" I said exasperatedly. "I don't know if you've noticed, but we were really running low on chow."

"And this wouldn't be—I don't know—a _ploy_ or something to distract me form the fact that my picture frame is broken?" She held up the evidence.

"I didn't break that," I said quickly.

"Then who did?"

"Silky,"

"You mean Dave? He was over here?"

"Yeah, earlier today. He broke it and ran away. I'm know you don't want to believe your perfect angel Davey could ever be capable of doing anything destructive—but it's the cold hard truth."

She crossed her arms. "How did he break it?"

"Um, well, you see, the tickle monster—"

"Okay," She held up her hand, stopping me. "I've heard enough."

"I'll get you another one as soon as I can."

"Don't worry about it. It'll be my money you're using anyway." She indicated the empty housekeeping jar.

"No, I'll get it. I broke—I mean, I _witnessed_the breaking so I'll take care of it."

"Right," she said like she didn't believe me. "Thanks for getting the food."

"No problem,"

We were putting away the hoard of food when Blake spoke up about the party. "What's this about a party on the calendar?"

"Oh, Silky wrote that. Apparently we're coming to this going- away party for the team." I said. I was on my knees in front of the open fridge, taking a break from putting food away and stuffing my face with newly bought grapes.

"Where are they going?"

"Eh. . .Europe or someplace."

"Why didn't you tell me? Am I invited? How come they're going?" Blake has a tendency to ask a bunch of questions at the same time.

I decided to answer the last one. "Olympics stuff. Very serious."

"Can I come?"

"Of course you can come, Blakey. The guys would kill me if you didn't."

"We have to go shopping!"

"I just went shopping!" I cried, very disappointed that she had forgotten.

"No, I mean _clothes_shopping." She whacked me on the head. "Stop eating those damn grapes."

"But they're so ripe and juicy!"

She laughed and took them from me. "We're going to Macy's on Saturday morning."

"Does it have to be in the morning?"

"Yes, you need all day to shop."

"I hate mornings."

**XXXXXXXXXX**

**Well, that was all. I only got like three hours of sleep last night and I'm exhausted. Imma take a nap. **


	8. The Most Ridiculous, Repulsive Games

**Okay, my pity plea worked. Hee hee. Now, I'm going to thank you. **

**Ellie Jensen: That's seriously one of the best compliments I've ever gotten on my writing! Yay! I'm happy now. **

**penelopeparish: Glad you're liking Cal! Out of all the characters I've created, she's probably one of my favorites. You think Mark has a crush on Cal? Maybe. . .**

**Hockeychick19: You again! I love writing scenes with Cal and Silky. Don't like to be hunted. Here's the next chapter (please don't hurt me).**

_BEEP BEEP BEEP!_

At first I thought some giant bird had gotten in through the window and was squawking loudly right by my ear.

"Shut up, you damn bird" I muttered sleepily, groping around for my pillow. I started waving it in the direction of the consistent noise. It hit something and there were several loud crashes, though the beeping continued.

"Cal, you dumb ass!" The pillow was taken from my hands.

I pushed myself up on my elbows and blinked in the bright light. "Argh, what time is it?"

_BEEP BEEEEP!_

"Will you turn that thing off?" I asked, jamming my fingers in my ears. It stopped. "Thanks." I pushed my bangs off my face and leaned over the edge of the bed. Blake was sitting on the floor, my alarm clock in her hands.

She smirked at me. "Rise and shine, kiddo."

I stuck my tongue out at her. "Did you set the alarm?"

"Yes and it worked because you're awake."

"Not for long; I can't function properly when the only people in the world awake are praying Catholic nuns in the Netherlands."

"It's almost nine am." she said, showing me the digital numbers o n the clock face.

"So it's still working," I grumbled unenthusiastically.

Blake threw a towel over my shoulder. "Get cleaned up so we can go. I'll make you breakfast."

"I have hardly any money. The only thing I'll be able to afford is a burlap potato sack."

"Don't worry, we'll find something. I have a knack for these things." She tapped the side of her head. "You're going to look good for that party, Callie."

"I'm not making any promises." I said, catching my reflection in the bathroom mirror across the room.

Over four hours later I was trailing behind Blake as she raced through rows of clothing at the speed if light. My feet were killing me and my stomach was rumbling but I didn't say anything because I didn't want to complain. A promise is a promise.

"I think this will good on you," I heard Blake say more to herself than me. She put dress number one thousand over her left arm. She had already found something. It was easy for her to find something that looked great, of course. Now we were looking for something for me.

"Go try these on," Blake instructed when I caught up to her.

"You're practically carrying half the store!"

"Oh, don't be so dramatic." She shoved the heap of fabric in my arms and pushed me toward a dressing room. "Let me know when you find something that looks hot,"

I grunted in response and found an empty room. I hung the clothes up on the hooks and started taking off my clothes. Dresses were so confining. I always felt so self conscious in them. I couldn't act like myself; I had to be a polite young lady with good posture.

I sighed and picked up the first dress. No way. I did not look good in yellow paisley. I would have to keep that in mind. Second dress: It made my hips look huge. I wondered if there was s any way to make this easier. Probably not. I'd better try them all.

I tried on the next one and look at myself critically in the mirror. I looked so out of place in a dress, what with my unkempt hair and scarred up knees for being such a tomboy when I was little. The dress felt suffocating and I didn't feel like myself at all.

After a while, I'd found only one thing that I would wear in public. It was gray, which made my eyes look nice, and it showed off my legs (What can I say? I like my calves.)

"Blake?" I called. She had been patiently waiting outside the whole time.

"Yes? Have you found something? Can I come in?"

I opened the changing room door. "Yep," Blake stepped in. "Well?" I asked.

"Oh," she said, looking disappointed

"Is it really that bad?" I asked, seeing myself visibly wince in the mirror. _Pull yourself together._

"No, it's not that. I mean, you look good but. . .well, I was hoping you would pick something else."

"What do you mean?"

"There was this one. . ." she started gong through the discarded dresses. "Aha!" She held up a bright red one that probably went down to about my lower thighs.

"Blake," I groaned. "It's strapless."

"So? You could pull it off. And I think you would look in red. Please Callie, try it on again."

"Well, if you say so," I said skeptically, taking it from her. I shooed her out and changed again, with my back to the mirror. When I turned around, I was surprised for a split second. I _did_ look good in red. My skin looked more golden and the dress made my arms and legs look more shapely. And my hair wasn't complexly crazy; it waved nicely down my shoulders.

"Cal?" Blake called. "Do you have it on yet?"

"Yeah," I opened the door to let her in.

"Whoa. I told you it would be great!" she exclaimed.

"I don't know," I said, suddenly aware of the bare, exposed feeling my shoulders had.

"Cal, I'll _buy _ this for you if you wear it to the party. You look that good."

"No kidding? You'll buy it for me?"

She nodded. "Definitely. What do you say?"

I looked at myself one last time. "I say you got yourself a deal."

**XXXXXXXXXX**

After our shopping escapade, all I wanted to do was collapse in my bed and watch an old horror movie on TV or something. But there were a few frantic messages on the machine from OC, saying how they were all going to be stranded at the U if I didn't come pick them up. (Is it really so hard to ask for a ride form someone else? Why did Silky have to destroy his car when he ran into a deer last year? I mean, how do you run over a deer that's just standing there? Jack needed to start saving up to buy his own car so he would stop mooching off of me.)

After I ate something, I drove over to the U. At least if one of them called me selfish again I could use this to my defense.

I parked the car and walked in, looking around the lobby which seemed deserted. I hoped I was just really early and not extremely late. I decided to see if the locker room was empty (a bad sign either way). As I was walking down the hall that led to the room, I stopped dead in my tracks.

Oh. Oh my. Ohmigod.

I blinked a few times to make sure I wasn't seeing things. McClanahan and Nolan were talking to _each other _and _smiling_. Right there in the hallway. Right in front of me.

Let's clarify: Nolan King, my ex-boyfriend who I hate with a passion and never want to see again, and McClanahan, the one person I hate even more than Nolan. I imagined two chemicals that caused a huge explosion when mixed together. (And not to mention that Nolan being anywhere near my brother and/or best friend was going to cause a scene.)

"What. . .?" I trailed off. I thought about running, if I was a person who ran away from things. Which I'm not.

"Callie!" Nolan said as he turned and saw me. "We were just talking about you!"

"But how. . .?" I was stuttering like an idiot, looking back and forth at both of them, waiting for some answers. McClanahan looked as if he was very much enjoying my discomfort.

"You must be confused!" Nolan said and laughed. _Thank you, Nolan!_ "You see, I came to check this place out because I heard Olympians were practicing here." He gestured to McClanahan with his elbow, grinning. "I ran into Mac right out here, and it turned out we both knew you! Isn't that crazy?"

I nodded and swallowed hard. "Oh yeah?" Was it possible that OC or Silky could have realized he was here by now? "That is crazy." I said, trying to look thrilled. I was not going to give McClanahan the satisfaction of this. And your enemy should never see you hesitate.

"We're both athletes, so we've just been talking and talking. . ." McClanahan gushed. I almost snorted. He had to know by now that Nolan was my ex, and was probably just acting as if he fell in love with him to bug me. I needed to calm down. He wasn't going to do anything crazy just to bug me, right? If you don't actually like Nolan, he gets annoying fast.

"I've invited him to the party!" McClanahan went on.

Well, for crying out loud. But I must not show signs of weakness! "That sounds _great. _ I'm sure we'll have loads of fun." I forced a smile onto my stubborn cheeks. Eh, my acting skills needed work.

"Yeah, it'll be awesome." Nolan said then glanced at a showy watch on his wrist (probably worth more than my whole outfit). "Well, I better hit the road. Thanks for inviting me, Mac."

"Don't mention it; I was happy to." he said proudly.

What? My best fake smile, the one that showed off my dimples, was not fooling him? Shouldn't he be really upset that I was happy about this?

"Let's catch up at the party, Cal." Nolan said to me. "We haven't talked in ages, and I think you've missed me."

"OK, if I see you." Correction: I deserved an Oscar for that line.

"Oh, I'll make sure you see me." Did he just wink? "See ya, Mac." I watched him leave the building, still trying to process what had just happened. I changed my mind; I hated Nolan more than McClanahan. But still, I was going to kill him.

I turned on my heel to face him. "Hey, why did you—" before I could finish my sentence, he turned his back to me and walked away. Rude! Talk about rude! So he'll talk to me in the company of other people (people that I despise, mind you) but not directly to me? McClanahan was back to being the person I hated the most.

I was seriously considering running out to the parking lot and tackling Nolan, making him promise that he wouldn't show up. But I should have been thankful, there had been no bad run-ins. Yet.

Suddenly, a loud laughing group of the guys came jostling out of the locker room. Rizzo was in the center of it. He looked so happy I immediately forgot everything I was mad about

"Cal! Hey!" Rizzo said as he got pelted by hands patting him on the head and shoulders and back and who knows where else.

"Hey!" I called back, standing on the tips of my toes to see over the tall hockey players. "What's going on?"

"Oh, nothing!" Silky said, stepping out of the crowd to stand next to me. "Only Rizzo was just named team captain."

"No way!"

"Way," OC said. "I thought you wouldn't show up."

"Well, I did." I snapped. "That's so great, Riz!" I said, ruffling his hair. "We must celebrate this accomplishment!"

I should have been extremely happy. I'm sure I sounded and looked like I was, but Nolan coming to the party was worrying me. Maybe I was just being paranoid, but in my gut I felt as if something very bad was going to happen because he was there.


	9. This isn't Where I Want to Be

**Okay, this took slightly longer than expected but I finished it! Woo! **

**Hockeychick19: Thanks again for reviewing and making me laugh (or slightly scared). **

**I hope you all enjoy this one!**

I was pretty sure having fun tonight was going to be impossible. I had spent two hours getting ready (ridiculous, I know). Blake helped me, naturally. She nearly gouged my eyes out doing my eye makeup and I kept getting impatient and moving around so she would mess up and have to start all over. Then it felt like she frying my scalp off when she ironed my hair to make it straight. ("You can't go out looking like you just rolled out of bed! Really, Cal!") It took a long time and my neck was cramping, but in the end it was worth it. My hair looked like a sandy waterfall, the way it sat perfectly on my back. Which was bare, by the way, but it looked alright because I still had sort of a tan left from the summer.

So I did look good (okay, let's just be honest, I looked _extremely_ good) but I didn't have any time to enjoy it. I was going to have to keep tabs on a bunch of people all night. Avoid Nolan, ignore McClanahan (for payback) and make sure that Nolan didn't get anywhere near OC or Silky and all them. It was gong to be exhausting.

Blake, OC, Silky, Rizzo, Jimmy and I met Craig Patrick as we were walking into the bar. We all got introduced.

"Cal O' Callahan?" Coach Patrick asked he shook my hand firmly.

"It's a nickname," Jimmy explained. I hate it when people called it my nickname.

"Oh. So I can call you that, right?"

I quickly nodded. "Definitely,"

I saw Jimmy roll his eyes while OC said, "Thanks for throwing this awesome party, Coach."

Awesome was hardly the word I would have used to describe it. The bar, dark and dreary as ever, was decorated with red, white and blue streamers and balloons. The tables were covered in red, white or blue tablecloths. A banner over the bar read: GOOD LUCK USA HOCKEY TEAM. They were giving out miniature American flags at the door. I thought I might go blind from the patriotic-ness of it all.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nolan and Mac talking with some of the other players a few yards away. If either of them looked up, they were going to see all of us hanging around the door. Distraction needed!

"Hey, there's Verchota!" I said, draping my arms around OC and Rizzo's shoulders and steering them away. Silky, Jimmy and Blake followed. "And Pav too!" I teetered in the black heels Blake made me wear. I was so going to fall flat on my ass at least once tonight.

"I'm glad to see you, too, Callie." Verchota laughed.

"Hey Gorgeous!" Pav said and wrapped me in bear hug that lifted me off my feet. _Hey Gorgeous?_ I loved him!

"Yeah, you look hot." Verchota remarked. "You too, Blake."

OC cleared his throat loudly.

"Hey Gorgeous!" Pav said again and moved to hug OC. I laughed my cackle-like laughter. Pav had to be pretty gutsy to yell that in a bar full of his teammates.

"I didn't know there'd be this many people here," Jimmy said, looking around.

"Do you know everyone?" I asked.

"Hell no," Verchota laughed again. "But there's probably crashers and the like."

We talked for a while about what they would be doing Europe, but I wasn't really paying attention because I kept scanning the crowd. It was probably full of Minnesotans. Damn it, I thought I was over that. It was all because of Bah. But I really shouldn't blame him, I was the one that royally messed up.

After a while, I started to get hungry so I went off in search for something to eat. In the middle of this food-hunt, I spotted Rizzo separating himself from the rest of the guys. He was heading toward. . .the bathrooms in the back.

"Crap," I muttered, frantically looking around, but saw no sight of Nolan anywhere. He could have been in the bathroom! If I took another way and hurried, I could make it there before Rizzo.

Weaving through tables and people, I made it to the little hallway that lead to the bathrooms before him. I kicked open the men's room door and walked in. (I've been watching too many _James Bond_ movies.) There was a guy using a urinal.

"What the f—?" he yelled, zipping up.

"Sorry," I said. "I was looking for someone." I attempted to see if anyone was using the stalls.

"No one's in here but me!" He was glaring at me indignantly.

"Sorry," I repeated, now struggling to keep a straight face. I walked back out the door and came face to face with Rizzo.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline.

"I, um, got confused. You know me. Watch out, there's a really cranky guy in there." I told him "See ya,"

He gave me one last look over his shoulder before letting the bathroom door close behind him. Whew. I leaned against the wall. This was ridiculous. I needed a better plan.

"Hanging out by the bathrooms?" Steve Janaszak's voice interrupted my scheming thoughts.

I shrugged. I didn't have the strength to come up with anything else.

"Do you want to sit at my table? There's room, and you look a little bored." It was better than staying here in this stinky hallway. "We were about to eat," Janny went on. Okay, I was in.

"Sure," I said. "Thanks." I followed him to a red-covered table. I didn't see who all was there until he sat down. McClanahan and Nolan were there, and that wasn't the worst of it. Janny pulled out the chair next to him. One the other side of it, Bah was sitting. Great. The Table of Doom.

What else could I do? I reluctantly sat down. "Callie, there you are." Nolan said, smiling across the table. "I was beginning to think you were hiding from me."

Everyone started laughing so I tried to chime in a little too. Mostly I was busy trying not to look Bah directly in the eye. I couldn't just sit there, saying nothing. I needed to come up with some casual chatter. So how about those Mets? Nice weather we're having, huh? No, that wasn't going to work. When Bah's foot touched mine, we both moved our chairs as far away from each other as possible. Could this get anymore awkward?

"You know what we need?" Janny asked. "Something to drink."

"Of course you're the one to bring up alcohol," McClanahan said, rolling his eyes.

"Well, who's with me?" A bunch of people, myself included, raised their hands.

"I'll get a round," Nolan said, standing up. "Come help me, Callie."

I thought I had better keep an eye on him. Maybe it was a good thing we were seated together; I would know where he was. And I didn't want to sit here any longer with Bah.

"Fine," I said gruffly so Nolan would know that I wasn't happy getting stuck with him. I scooted back in my chair and started to walk toward the bar.

He grabbed my arm. "Actually, this way." he gestured in the opposite direction. "No bartender tonight. They set up everything in the kitchen. You help yourself."

I had never been in the kitchen of the bar before. He pulled me past some counters and cooks working. He was holding my arm a little too tightly, so I tugged it free. He raised his eyebrows at me. "Sorry, then."

There was a shelf full of glasses and bottles of hard liquors. Nolan started grabbing some glasses so I scanned the drinks. Just as I was reaching for a bottle of Jack Daniels, Nolan grabbed my wrist and forced me against the wall, pinning his body against mine. It took me a full second to realize what was happening.

"Nolan, get off me." I said as firmly as I could manage. My wrists were pinned on either side of my head, and I couldn't move my legs.

"Come on, Cal, I don't bite." He smiled wickedly and ran his hand up my bare thigh. "Much."

"I'm serious, Nolan. Get off." It was a good thing my voice came out stronger than I felt. I forced myself to remain calm, but my heart was starting to pound. I felt like a player behind held up against the boards with no one to pass to. There was nobody around.

"But it'll be just like old times." he continued.

I felt anger well up inside of me. "No!" I snapped. "When are you going to get it? I'm over you! I don't want anything to do with you!"

I wasn't sure what Nolan was going to do next, and I didn't get to find out.

"What's going on?" We looked up. McClanahan was standing a few feet away, apparently stopped in his tracks. I had never been so happy to see him before. Now that someone else was here, I figured Nolan would let up. I tried to oh-so-casually step away and make it look like Nolan had tripped and fallen on me or something. But he wasn't budging.

Nolan made a snorting sound. "Get out of here, Mac. Cal and I are _busy._"

No. I was not going to let this happen. I was not going to let Nolan win. I shoved him in the chest. "Get away from me," I hissed.

He smirked then flew off me. Well, not literally, but one second he was on top of me and the next he wasn't. McClanahan had pulled him off. "Get out of here, King." He snarled. I was surprised how serious he looked and sounded.

"Come on, man, I was just—"

"Now!"

Nolan mumbled some about "stupid party anyway" and stalked out of the kitchen.

After he was gone, McClanahan turned to me. "Are you okay?"

I just nodded as I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the tiled floor. I felt my body shaking all over.

"Did he hurt you?" He sat down next to me.

I shook my head. "No, I'm fine." I didn't feel exactly fine, though. I wrapped my arms around my knees and tucked them under my chin.

McClanahan sighed and leaned against the wall next to me. "What a dick. . ." he muttered. "I knew that guy gave me bad vibes."

"Then why did you invite him?" He didn't answer right away. "To annoy me? Yeah, that's what I thought."

"I—I'm sorry, Cal. I didn't know—I mean, I didn't realize. . ." he sighed again. "I'm really sorry."

I realized that I was acting like a bitch. He had just helped me out big time and I was giving him a hard time. "Thanks," I said. "For doing that. . .you didn't have to."

"Yeah, I did. I invited him so he was sort of my responsibility."

"You're talking to me again," I said.

"What do you mean?"

"You were ignoring me before. But now you aren't."

"Well, sorry." he huffed. "I can go back to not talking to you if you want."

"No, I mean—never mind." We were quiet for a minute.

"Hey," he tapped me on the knee. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

"You're thanking me. It's not like you."

I laughed and slid off my heels because my feet were killing me. "Well, it's not like you to come to my defense, McClanahan."

"Call me Rob, okay?"

"What?"

"Enough with this McClanahan stuff. It's Rob or Mac. Your choice."

"What about Robby?"

"As long as it's not McClanahan. It makes me a think a coach is yelling at me or something."

I cracked up. "Really?"

"I shouldn't have told you that,"

"No," I agreed. "I won't call you McClanahan if you don't call me Klutz anymore." I thought he was going to mention the fact that he hadn't called me that in weeks, but he didn't.

"Deal," We shook on it. "What's your real name anyway?"

"How do you know Cal isn't my real name?"

"I've heard around," he mumbled. "So what is it?"

"Why should I tell you, McClan—I mean, Mac?"

"I'll trade you. My full name for yours."

"I don't think so,"

"I'll tell you mine, anyway. It's Robert Bruce MCclanahan."

"Bruce?"

"Yeah, what's so weird about that?"

"Nothing, but whenever I hear that name, I think of a superhero."

"I don't see it."

"You know, like Batman. Bruce Wayne? That's his real name."

"So I make you think of a superhero?"

"Not exactly."

"Well, I did do something pretty superhero-ish." He gave me a quick sideways glance. "You seem better. Let's go find you brother." He started to stand up

.

"Wait! Why?"

"I want to tell him what happened so, you know, he can watch out for the creep."

"I can take care of myself." I snapped.

He rolled his eyes in annoyance. "What if something like this happens again? Besides, he should know."

"You can't tell him. It would make things worse. It's my choice to tell him, anyway. So you can't." I stood up and tried to change the subject. "I'm going out to my car for a second."

"What for?"

I held up the heels. "I have sneakers in there. I can't wear these torture chambers anymore."

He laughed. "I'll come with you,"

"I don't need you to,"

"Well, I am so deal with it."

I didn't argue anymore because I knew he wasn't going to give in. We walked outside, him trailing a few feet behind me, and I unlocked my car. My newly bought green Converses were lying on the back seat. I threw the heels in the car and started to put them on.

"Green?" Mac asked, standing in front of me. "Really?"

I shrugged. "It must be the Irish in me."

He snorted. "Right."

Another moment of silence.

"Are you sure you don't want me to tell OC?"

Not this again. "Yes, I'm sure. You cannottell him, okay? Or anyone, alright?"

"Fine, but. . ."

"Mac!"

"I won't."

And somehow I knew he wouldn't.

**XXXXXXXXXX**

I burst into Jimmy and Silky's room and flicked on the overhead light." Wakey, wakey!" I yelled. I started jumping up and down on Silky's bed as he began to stir. "Get up, get up!"

He groaned into his mattress.

"Today is Europe day!" I gave him a little kick in the shoulder. "It's time to wake up!" I sang. I hopped over to Jimmy's bed and continued jumping. "Jimbo! The earth says hello! Wake up!"

Jim looked at me with bleary eyes, his dark hair a mess around his face. "Cal, who gave you caffeine?"

"Rizzo," I giggled as I hopped from his bed to Silky's and back again repeatedly.

"I need to have a serious discussion with him," he mumbled as he got out of bed. I tried to wake up Silky again. "Silky," I said, nudging him with my toe. "Up,"

"No," he said. "Sleep. Sleep good."

"Late. Up or late. Europe, Silky !"

"Cal," Jimmy said. "Where's Rizzo? And everyone?"

"Dorm," I replied. "Breakfast."

"Cal, I can't figure out your guys' language at five in the morning. Please talk in understandable English."

"Breakfast in dorm!" I tried.

"Thank you. Now, no more coffee for you."

"Me likey espresso!" I shouted.

"Oh, I know you do. But every time you drink any you're a giant ball of energy and destruction."

I wasn't even paying attention any more. I guess coffee also gave me ADD. "UP!" I yelled at Silky and shook the bed.

"Up," he said, sitting. "See? Up."

I patted his messy hair. "Good, boy. Good, Silky." I jumped off the bed and ran back to Rizzo's dorm, unable to calm down. I was bouncing off the walls. Rizzo was still making breakfast for the guys that kept walking in. "I did it!" I told him happily, snatching up a mug from the cabinet.

"Why are you so jacked up?" Strobel asked me, who was eating eggs at the kitchen table.

I shrugged and made a dive for the coffee maker.

"I don't think so, Cal!" Rizzo said, moving it out of my reach. "You've had enough today."

"But it makes me happy!"

"You're like a seven year old," Ken Morrow observed. He was leaning against the counter eating a piece of toast. "And I heard you could put away some beer."

"She can, but caffeine is a whole different story." Rizzo said as he practically wrested with me to keep me away from the coffee maker. "I shouldn't have let her had so much, but I needed someone to wake everyone up."

"Gimme!" I demanded, grabbing for it.

"Sit!" he ordered.

I crossed my arms and threw myself into a kitchen chair. "I'm getting tired again!" I protested.

"You are? Thank God." OC said.

"Eat," Rizzo handed me a plate of scrambled eggs. I slid into the chair next to Strobel as the door opened again. This time it was Mac and Bill Baker. Mac sat down on the other side of me and Rizzo handed him a plate.

"Thanks, Riz. I didn't know you could cook."

"Well, I'm working on it."

"Do you have any Ketchup?" I asked, still not able to sit still.

"In the fridge," I scampered across the kitchen and took the bottle out. I sat back down and squirted some on my plate. Mac was looking at me weirdly. "What?"

"Must Ketchup go on everything?"

I nodded enthusiastically and continued smothering my breakfast.

"I wonder about you sometimes,"

"Shut up. Come on, who else here like ketchup on eggs?"

"I prefer bacon. . ." Pav muttered from across the table. He looked like he was in desperate need of some caffeine himself.

"I do," Rizzo piped up. Thank you, Riz! "Sometimes. . ." Gee, thanks.

"I supposed you're just strange." Mac continued. "Like wearing green shoes."

I gave him a hard kick under the table.

"Ow!"

"Oh, was that your leg?" I asked sweetly, standing up to get something to drink. "Sorry. My foot slipped." Everyone started laughing but tried to hold it in at the same time. I was relieved. Mac and I were back to normal.

As I poured myself a glass of orange juice, I caught his eye. He grinned at me and I couldn't help but smiling back.

At least, I hoped they were.

**Feedback, please! **


	10. You're Just a Symptom

I was the last student in the art room. Everyone else had left, but I always liked to stay late. I loved the U of M's art room. It had big windows and sunshine was always streaming through them. I was sitting at an easel, painting. I liked to go abstract when I painted, unlike my realistic sketching. My half-finished bowl of fruit sat abandoned in a corner. That still life gets old fast. The visual arts teacher, Mr. Scott, was washing brushes in the sink at the front of the room. He was my favorite teacher by far. He didn't have much hair, always wore old colorful button-up shirts (such as purple or orange) and sandals with socks to work, and had gicantic glasses that made his yellowish eyes look huge.

I was so engrossed that I was startled when he spoke up. "Cal?" he asked, pulling up a stool next to mine and sitting down. The first thing I had told him was to call me Cal like I did with all my teachers, but he was the only that took to it right away.

"Yes, sir?" I asked distractedly.

"I want to talk to you,"

"Okay," I set my brush on the edge of the easel. "What about?"

"Your English teacher told me you were missing five homework assignments."

_Ouch_.I remembered one time I had been at the bar with the guys. . .and the other time I was too tried and yesterday I had just forgotten.

"Cal? Care to explain?" He didn't sound angry or accusing, just genuinely curious.

"I—I didn't know it was that many." I said stupidly.

He wrinkled his big forehead and looked up at the ceiling. "Is everything okay? I mean, are you feeling alright here in Minnesota?" he asked.

If there was one thing I, Cal O'Callahan, didn't like it would be people thinking I wasn't "okay." I could handle whatever I needed to. "Of course I have. I've just been busy, that's all."

"You're doing very well in this class, but from what I can gather in not much else."

I stared at my painting and wondering how long this was going to last.

"I don't think you follow directions very well," he went on. "I make this class flexible, but you have to be cooperative in your others."

"I know," I said, trying not to lose my temper.

"If this keeps going on—and you know I would hate to do it—but I'd suggest sending you straight home after class so you can do your work."

"Okay," I said. "I'll do better." I stood up to put my stuff away. I knew it probably had something to do with me being on scholarship. Sometimes I hated the fact that I couldn't support myself. Sure there were plenty of other students like me, but I felt like being scholarship put me at a disadvantage.

When I came back to the easel, he asked, "I was wondering what you wanted to do after college. Where do you want to take this degree? A teacher would be the most reliable thing. Have you thought about that?"

I had and I would never do it. It was a huge responsibility and it meant lots of people relying on you. Not that I could ever teach anyone anything. "No, I don't think I'd want to do that."

"I didn't think so," he said. "But I want you to think more about this. You have a lot of potential, and I don't want it to be wasted."

"I won't. I won't waste it." I started to leave. "Well, see you tomorrow."

"Bye. And Cal?"

I turned around. "Yes?"

"If you ever want to talk about anything, I'm not hard to reach."

"I know," I said, but really I was thinking;_ Like I would ever do that._ "Thanks, Mr. Scott."

He smiled and shook his head. "It's Gary, remember?"

"Right. Thanks Gary."

**XXXXXXXXXX**

Thump. Thump. Thump. My heart went as I was wrenched out of sleep. My clothes were soaked with sweat. The dream was still fresh in my mind. It had been about Nolan. I dreamt that I was with him again and it was just like it had been before—I couldn't get out. Lately I had been having more and more dreams where I woke up with a jolt in the middle of the night. But they were different from before. The other week I had a dream and in it, I found out my dad had died. All I remember as feeling really guilty and upset that I hadn't gotten to say good-bye and now I would never be able to see his face again, and I would never remember it. I woke up extremely relieved that it was just a dream , and my dad was most likely alive somewhere.

Recently, the fact had dawned on me that my parents were going to die someday. It was kind of scary, but seemed it far off. Would I be talking to them again by then? Or we would we stay like this forever? That possibility never bothered me.

In other dreams, my mom would come back up. She would say how sorry she was for leaving and that she always loved me. She realized what she did was a big mistake and she'd never leave again. Everything would be forgiven and we'd be a real family again.

But that hurt worse than any of the other dreams. Much worse.

Besides, if one of my parents did die, someone would let me know, right? Or if they were dying, I would be bale to see them again. Maybe I could find them first so I wouldn't have any unfinished business. Maybe they were_ looking_ for me. Maybe they _wanted_ to see me.

_No, don't go thinking like that, Cal,_ I told myself as I kicked back my covers and slid out of bed. _Remember what Jack said; they aren't worth it._ I checked to see if Blake was still asleep like I always did, and she was. I was beginning to think she could sleep through anything.

I wanted to talk to someone so the silence wouldn't be so horribly oppressive. But I wasn't going to wake Blake up in the middle of the night and give her a panic attack. I wanted. . .Silky. I admitted it, I missed him. I would have called him if it wasn't two o'clock in the morning. . .but he was in Europe, and it was like seven hours ahead there! Maybe he wouldn't notice what time it was for me. Just have a little chat so I could go back to bed again and he wouldn't expect a thing.

I unhitched the phone off the wall and grabbed the piece of paper I had written the number Silky gave me the first night he was in Europe. I didn't want to wake Blake so I slipped into the bathroom and closed the door on the phone chord, wedging it between the door and the wall. I made myself comfortable on the fluffy bathroom rug and dialed.

One ring. Two rings. Three. I plucked at a tuft of fuzz on the rug with my free hand while I waited.

"Hello?" someone answered.

I didn't recognize the voice. "Um. . .is Silky there?"

Silence.

_Please don't be a wrong number, please don't be a wrong number, _I begged in my head.

More silence. And then, "Is this Cal?"

I suddenly knew who it was. "_Mac?_"

"Yeah. This isn't Silky's room."

"Well, this is the number he gave me."

"No, this is my room and your brother's."

Excuse me? "You're rooming with OC?"

He laughed. "Yep. It's an alphabetical order or something. Silk's with Schneider, I think. Yeah, Silky's with Buzz."

"Oh, well. . .how's he taking it?"

"He left about an hour ago. Haven't seen him much."

"Hmm," What happened to buddy-buddy Mac and OC?

"Wait a minute—isn't it like the middle of the night in America?"

Busted. "Uh, not really." _Not really?_ Brilliant, Cal.

"Um, okay. . ." He didn't buy it at all.

I didn't want to have another moment of no one speaking so I said quickly, "Hey, I've been wondering about something."

"What?"

"Why not Bob?"

"Bob?"

"Yeah, since your name is Robert, why don't people call you Bob?"

"Because, well. . .hey! What's wrong with Rob?"

I heaved a big why-must-you-be-so-difficult sigh . "Jeez, touchy-touchy. Nothing is wrong with Rob. But how'd you get that instead of Bob'? Bob is like standard for Robert, isn't it?"

"I guess so. But I think my mom meant for everyone to call me Robert. She's didn't like Bob or something. So with everyone calling me Robert, people just started naturally shortening it to Rob. . .or Robby."

"Well, I think Rob is better than Bob, just so you know."

"Are you complimenting me?"

"_No,_ I'm complimenting your mother, I guess."

"Well, I'm sure she'll be glad to hear that." Before I could respond, he started talking again. "Oh, um, has King bothered you anymore?"

I resisted the urge to bang my head against the sink. "No, but why do you care? I can watch out for myself."

"I was just asking, okay? So he hasn't. . .?"

"Jesus Christ, McClanahan! No, he has not!"

"Good. But It's Mac, remember?"

"Same difference," I huffed.

"Okay, _Klutz,_" he said, clearly put off. "Do you want me to go get Silky?"

"What? Oh. No, that's okay." I didn't feel like talking to him anymore. "I'm getting kinda of tired so I think I'll just go to bed."

"Right. Well, I'll tell him you called. . . if you want."

"Yeah, that would be good. Thanks."

"Well. . .bye."

"See ya. . ." We hung up. As I pushed open the bathroom door to un-stick and the chord and hang up, I was thinking, Did I really just have a phone conversation with Mac?

I crawled back under the covers, suddenly feeling contented enough to go back to sleep. But it had nothing to do with Mac. I just needed someone to talk to and he was the only one around. It was just a coincidence. That was all.


	11. Something's Rubbing Me the Wrong Way

**Alrighty, it looks like i have a lot of people to thank. I want to thank all the people who added my stories to their favorites (you know who you are). That is so awesome. I'm sorry this chapter took longer than usual to get posted. **

**hockeychick19 and dahila687: thanks for taking the time to review. I really like reading them. :)**

**And thanks to everyone else who have kept up with this! **

My English teacher, Mrs. Landers, wasn't going to be too happy with me. I had forgotten to do my homework. . .again. I had completely forgotten that we had any.

Until just now.

When everyone was turning their papers in, I remembered. A poem. We were supposed to have written a poem. I could really take them or leave them. If I read another poem about nature, I was going to scream. I was so tired of hearing people analyze what the woods or the lake or the sunrise _really_ meant. Like love or sex or greed. Maybe it didn't mean anything. Maybe the woods were just woods.

"I spent two hours on this last night!" a girl nearby squealed to her friend.

_Never mind. _

Maybe I could write a short poem right now really quickly. The Japanese kind with three lines, whatever they were called. I reached for my notebook.

"Okay, class, let's all take out our copies of Macbeth. . ." Mrs. Landers chirped, standing at the front of the classroom.

Damn. How was I supposed to be a good student if my teachers didn't give me a chance?

As predicted, Landers was pretty pissed about my missing assignment. She must have noticed that it wasn't in with everyone else. (How would you notice that? They are like, fifty kids in my class.) She called me up to her desk after class was over while everyone else was escaping.

"I talked to Mr. Scott about this," she began, letting her glasses drop on the chain around her neck. Mrs. Lanters was really uptight. When she got mad she yelled, and I was pretty sure she hated me because I was late all the time. But she was smart and a pretty good teacher, I guess, but English simply wasn't my favorite subject.

"I know; he talked to me about it, too." I cut in.

"I'm not happy about this. You are the only student in my class who didn't write me a poem. It's not a particularly hard assignment, especially for you."

"What do you mean?"

"I've seen what you can do in class, and you're more than capable."

"Of what?" I was completely confused.

"Writing," she said and actually smiled. "I think you'd be good at it I you applied yourself."

I was staring at a rip in my jeans that I got climbing over a fence. I didn't really believe her; I thought she was just trying to get me to do the stupid poem. "Can I have a second chance?" I asked lamely, looking her straight in the eye.

"I'll give you till the end of the week to turn it in," she said, right back to her stiff old self. "But I have something for you." She picked up a frayed paperback off her desk and handed it to me. "Martial," she said as I looked at the cover. It had a painting of a man from the neck up in a circle, and it looked kind of Roman. "He was a poet. I think you would like his work. Give it a try."

"Oh. Um, thanks." I threw the book in my bag and hurried to my next class before I ended up being really late.

**XXXXXXXXXX**

After school finished, I was exhausted. I had beaten my brains out for the whole day. I didn't even want to _think_ about writing a poem. Lying in bed, just as I rolled over on my stomach to take a well deserved nap, the phone rang. Groan. I picked myself up and grabbed the phone off my desk.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Cal. It's me." Silky.

"Oh, hey." I said, brightening a little. "Did Mac tell you I called?"

"You called?"

"_Yeah,_ I did. That retard."

He laughed. When Silky laughed it sounded like a ten-year-old. It was light and airy. Then he stopped laughing and said very seriously, "I can't sleep, and it's all your fault."

"Oh, yeah. Isn't it nighttime for you?"

"Yes, but I can't sleep because someone made me read a book about a psychotic transvestite serial killer."

"Hey, I didn't make you do anything. You read that book all on your own, mister. And it was probably the first time _that_ happened, huh?"

"That's so funny I forgot to laugh."

I ignored his under-appreciation of my joke. "Seriously, you can't sleep?"

"Seriously. I'm all alone. No one wanted to room with me." This I can't help but laughing at. "Shut up, Cal! What do I do?"

"I would help you, Silky, but the whole _Atlantic Ocean_ thing is sort of a problem within itself."

"Just tell me what to do!"

"Somebody's cranky. Here, let me think. Close you eyes and take deep breaths? No—I got it! Read. That sometimes helps me."

"Oh, sure. You got any suggestions? Any more novels written by deeply disturbed people?"

"Or you could watch the movie." I continued to joke.

"There is no way I'm watching that freak show. Don't even try talking me into it."

"But it's Hitchcock, Silk. It's a classic."

"No."

"Fine. But do you have any book to read?"

"Cal, I don't carry around _books._ Are you kidding? I have a reputation, you know."

"Yeah, the guy who is scared to sleep in a room all by himself has to call his best friend for help."

"That hurt, Cal. But I know you didn't mean that and only said it out of anger." he said super-seriously.

"What are you, a philosopher?"

"No, I'm a hockey player, mothah fuckah!"

"Hockey player by day, philosopher by night. Ve-ry interesting."

"Are you gonna help me or not?"

"I tried, Man. What more do you want me to do?"

"Sing me a lullaby."

"My ass. Why don't you go bother someone else? Ask to sleep in somebody's room. "

"No way,"

"Why not?"

"'Cause I kind of wanna keep my dignity. Obviously you're of no help. Good night."

"Actually it's not night here," I pointed out.

"Whatever! Seeyalaterloveyabye!" As I hung up, I wondered what Silky was going to do without me. Ever since we went to college together we had gotten pretty inseparable. But he was graduating this year and I had another year to go. The New York Rangers wanted to sign him. New York. That was pretty far from Minnesota. But it could have been further, I guess. You could always get further. Back in Boston when he first told me the news he said, "It's only like, one state over. We'll visit each other al the time; every weekend." But now, we would probably see each other much less.

After the Olympics everyone was leaving. At least I'd have Blake.

**XXXXXXXXXX**

I was having a staring contest with the phone.

"Cal, cut it out." Blake said. I didn't answer. "Ca-_al_!"

"Wha-_at_?" I matched her tone. "I have to see if they beat Norway. They always call me afterward to tell me how things went."

Blake was lying on her bed, flipping through a magazine. "They're coming home in a few days: you'll find out then. Come on, let's go out."

"We will as soon as they call."

"Didn't you say something about the Norwegian team being weak?"

"Yep. They should be an easy win. Don't you already know that?"

"Cal, I've never been to a hockey game in my life. What do you think?"

I made a sweeping gesture above my head with my arm. "You know what that was? What you said going way, way over my head."

She grinned. "Maybe you could take me sometime."

I grinned back. "It's a date."

She swung her legs over the side of the bed. "So can we go out?"

"Wait!"

She sighed exasperatedly. "You said yourself it would be an easy win. Let's go already. You're being annoying."

I glanced at the silent phone one last time. I _was _being annoying. I needed to get out on the town. "They probably _will_ win. They _are_ gonna win. For sure." I tired to convince myself. "Okay. Let's roll."

**Sorry that this one sort of sucked. **


	12. Useless States of Mind

**Hockeychick19: Yeah, I know my chapters have been short lately. I hate it too! This one is better. **

"You _lost?_" I couldn't believe it. The seven of us had driven from the airport to a restaurant where they dropped the bomb on me that they HAD NOT BEATEN NORWAY.

"We didn't lose, we tied." Jimmy said, rolling his eyes.

"That's almost worse than losing."

"Is not," OC grumbled.

"Is too," I argued.

"Is _not_,"

"Is too!"

"Guys," Silky snapped. "I'm not in the mood. And Cal, I wouldn't be talking—you didn't have to fifty Herbies."

"Herbies?"

"Suicides," Coxy informed me.

"You named that self-killing drill after your coach? We could really get along—Brooks and I. You know, think of some schemes to murder you all." I said.

Rizzo looked horrified, OC looked thoroughly annoyed and Silky stuck his tongue out at me as discreetly as he could manage. Blake just grinned. "What do you mean suicides?"

"I am taking you to a game as soon as possible," I declared flatly.

She gave me a look. "Well? What do you mean?"

While Rizzo and Coxy went into a detailed explanation of precisely how did you the drill, our food came. I was in the bathroom when the waiter was taking orders, and Jimmy got me a plate of spaghetti with meat sauce. (We were dinning at a very nice Italian place that I had begged to go to, even though we were dressed completely wrong.)

I can't eat spaghetti without thinking of my mother. She used to make it all the time, when she was forced to make a meal for us. I guess because it was cheap and it filled you up and it was better than just popping a TV dinner in the microwave (although we ate a lot of those, too). Whenever she made it, she would go on about how nice it was for us (OC and I) to have a hot, homemade meal. Even after she left, we ate it a lot because we had watched her do it so many times. Every so often OC would point out, "See how easy this is? Just boil some water and mix the sauce with meat. Mom never gave a shit." For a while I got so sick of spaghetti couldn't eat it for like, a year. But every so often it's not so bad.

"So you guys better work your asses of so something like this won't happen again," I said.

Everybody groaned. Jimmy covered his ears. "Enough!"

"Well, I want you to win when Blake sees you play!" I exclaimed louder than truly necessary. After everyone at the table got over looking incredibly embarrassed to be seen with me, Blake asked, "Who are you playing next?"

"The Minnesota North Stars," Rizzo replied.

"I've heard of them!" Blake said happily.

"Blechhhh," I made a disgusted sound. If I hate Minnesota's college team, why not hate their professional team?

"We'll cream them, I promise." OC said, slightly amused.

"You better," I mumbled.

"We will!"

"Good!"

"You guys are gonna get us kicked out of here," Coxy said brightly.

"It wouldn't be the first time," I said, exchanging glances with Silky across the table. I turned back to Jack. "So are you and McClanahan still best buds?"

He scowled and Silky laughed. "Yeah, right."

"Oh?"

"We are not friends, okay?" OC said, rolling his eyes. "We're just teammates."

"But I thought—"

"No!"

"But—"

"NO!"

"Drop it, Callie." Coxy said through a mouthful of food. "I mean, how would you feel if people said _you_ and Mac were friends?"

I wrinkled my noise. "WE ARE NOT FRIENDS!" Yikes. That was loud. Indoor voice, Cal.

"Exactly,"

"Acquaintances, I'd describe it. Yes, I do like that word." I said thoughtfully. "But we are still enemies." I added quickly.

"I don't know," Rizzo put in. "I mean, him and OC are gonna be spending a lot of time together. I think they might grow on each other, you know? And Cal pretty much likes all the other guys from Minnesota. . .so, you know, anything could happen."

"I don't think so." I snapped

"Well, we'll see." he replied slyly.

"No way. Not gonna happen."

"Famous last words," Blake muttered to him and they grinned at each other.

"Let's stop talking about him while we're eating, please." I sighed.

OC nodded. "True that."

"No, wait a minute—what about you guys?" Blake asked. The four of them looked at each other. They shrugged.

"I'm fine with him,"

"He's okay,"

"I don't know,"

"He can play,"

"Traitors," I muttered. And then because I still felt like bugging him, I stole one of OC's rolls.

"Hey!"

"Hey yourself," I said, popping it into my mouth. He kicked me under the table. I kicked him back harder. He stomped on my foot. I bit back a howl and gave him the finger.

"Rizzo!" he cried. "Did you see that?"

"See what?" Rizzo asked in bored voice.

"Cal is being _extremely _ rude!"

**XXXXXXXXX**

"Damn it!" I yelled as I found myself awake in bed. I was no longer worrying about waking Sleeping Beauty up. I sat up and kicked all my covers off, rubbing my forehead. I needed to sleep. Sometimes I could hardly keep my eyes open in class. I turned on my beside lamp and squinted in the brightness. What to do? What to do? I stood up and walked to the fridge to see if there was anything good to eat. Nothing. I slammed the door close. I got back in bed, still racking my brains, when something caught my eye. My school bag was on the floor, opened with things spilling out of it. The lamp light fell on a worn paperback book. Martial.

Normally I wouldn't have done anything a teacher told me outside of school. I wouldn't even consider it. But I couldn't sleep and I didn't have anything better to do, so I opened up to a random page:

_Dialus was a doctor once,__  
__But now he's a mortician;__  
__It's just a change of titles, though-__  
__It's still the same position._

Ha! I read further down the page.

_The archer pierced his rich wife's heart__  
__while "practising" one day -__  
__Practice makes perfect is what I always say._

Genius! I almost laughed out loud. Who knew poems could be so clever? Poems were not all boring.

_Here's the man you're looking for,__  
__And whom you've often read,__  
__Martial, known the whole world o'er,__  
__For witty things I've said.___

_I have received the honours you__  
__Adoring fans have giv'n,__  
__That seldom few dead poets do,__  
__While I'm alert and livin'._

I loved this guy. I couldn't stop reading. I was done with the whole thing by the time the sun came up. Blake was very surprised (and mad) that I spent the whole night reading. So was I.

**XXXXXXXXXX**

The next day at the game, all the screaming fans and people being slammed against the boards was giving me a headache. Fortunately, that didn't stop me from standing on my seat and bellowing insults and swear words across the arena.

Blake grabbed my arm and forced me to sit down. "Can't you stay seated for five minutes?" she snarled, her fingers digging into my arm. I pulled out of her surprisingly strong grip.

"That penalty is bull shit," I rubbed my sore arm. "Charging my ass."

"You harassing the referee isn't going to help!"

"Well, it'll make me feel better." I kicked the seat in front of me, and the guy sitting there promptly turned around and called me a bitch.

Blake glared at him but didn't say anything. Typical. She seemed to be enjoying herself, except for when I screamed at people.

"I thought you knew what to expect," I said.

"I didn't know how this was the way people acted." She gave me a look.

"Not everyone acts like me. Old people come to games, too. They're all behaved. Well, most of them."

She smiled. "Well, can you try to act a little more like an ordinary, respectable citizen since I'm here?"

"Don't worry. I've had lessons!" I flashed her a big smile to show off my dimples.

She simply rolled her eyes and asked, "Okay, so what happens now?"

"The Stars get the power play. Our guys are gonna have to be real careful—"

A ref blew his whistle and made the spastic looking motion for tripping on Mark Wells.

"SCREW THIS!" I screamed and stormed out to the lobby. Blake and I were relatively the only people rooting for Team USA (What was wrong those people? Did they hate their own country?) and they were embarrassing us! Just watching them fail made me hungry. But I was definitely eating in the lobby because there was no way I could keep anything down watching those losers play.

Blake came out and told me that (who would have guessed?) they lost. I won't even mention the score, it's too embarrassing. I was mad, but we had to wait until the guys were ready to leave.

When Silky and Jimmy came out, I let them know how I was feeling. "You guys sucked today."

_Smack! _

"Ow! What the hell?" Silky had hit me in the back of the head with the blade of his stick. He shrugged innocently while I rubbed my scalp.

"We heard you screaming," Christoff joined us. "I finally know who it was chirping at the U of M all these years. . ."

I grinned. "You're lucky I'm rooting for you now."

"Actually, it was pretty distracting." Mac said, standing next to Christoff.

"I could tell you needed all the concentration you could get," I shot back. "You turned the puck over so much it looked like you were making pancakes."

"I didn't—"

"Yes, you did. Three times. I counted."

"I didn't know you paid so much attention to me."

"I didn't know I distracted you!"

"I think you did well," Blake tried, as Mac and I glared knives at each other.

"Thank you," Jimmy said, giving me a look.

I tore my eyes away from Mac's and pointedly avoided his gaze as Rammer and Suter joined out little group. "Why does your coach always look constipated?" I asked them.

"All coaches do," Rammer replied. "It's a coach thing."

"I think Cal means he looks _especially _constipated." Blake said.

"Yeah, like he also has hemorrhoids." I suggested.

Suter made a face. "That sounds like a horrible combination."

"And it would explain so much," Silky sighed. "Poor guy. No wonder I never see him sit down."

"I've seen him sit down," Rammer said in a bragging tone.

"Yeah, because you've been called to his office." Jimmy smirked.

"I've had dinner with him, genius."

"Lucky you,"

"This conversation is getting weird." I said. "Can we go now?"

"We're waiting for Jack," Jimmy replied.

"He hasn't come out yet?"

"Do you see him out here? Then, no."

"I'll get him," I volunteered. I rapped loudly on the locker room door before coming inside. "Ja-a-ack?" I called. "Hello-o-o? Have you been killed? OC?"

Suddenly, a fat bald guy walked into the room. The towel guy or something. "Can I help you?" he asked.

"I'm looking for my bother," I explained.

"Everyone's left but me."

"Oh. Well, thanks anyway." I nodded. "I'll go look for him somewhere else, then." I nodded again before ducking out. "Negative," I told Silky, Jimmy, Blake and Mac. "Haven't you left yet?" I asked him.

He gave me an exaggerated eye roll. "Yes, I'm already gone."

"Where could he be?" Silky asked. I noticed that people were starting to ignore Mac and I every time we argued.

"Bathroom?"

Silky shook his head. "There're bathrooms in the lockers."

"He could be using another one," Jimmy pointed out. "Why don't we split up?"

"I'll go look outside," Blake said.

"I'll check back in the locker room." Blake offered.

"And I'll look here on the ground floor." Jimmy said. "Cal, you can look upstairs."

"Upstairs?"

"Yeah, you know. . ._upstairs._" He pointed to the ceiling. "So you go look up there and we'll all meet back down here. The stairs are thataway." He shoved me in the right direction then disappeared.

Well. I found the paint-peeled door that had a picture of staircase on it. It was heavy and made a loud creaking noise when I opened it. It revealed a dingy metal staircase that looked like a nice hangout for rats. "Fantastic," I muttered, wiping the palm I touched the handle with on my pants. I flew up the stairs and pushed open the door on the top of the landing. It was much brighter up here and I seemed to be in a sort of utility hallway. I could distantly here people moving around.

"JACK!" I screamed. Nada. I skipped back down the steps and narrowly avoided breaking my neck. I found Blake in the lobby. "I checked in both parking lots," she told me uneasily.

"There's more than one parking lot?" I really needed to do some more exploring around here.

"Yeah, there's one in the back. Have _you_ seen him?"

"He's definitely not in there," Silky interrupted, gesturing over his shoulder. "And Jimmy told me he can't find him anywhere, either."

"Well, where the hell is he?" I demanded.

"Hey, guys! I found him!" Jimmy called to us, appearing with Jack at his side.

"Where the fuck was he?" Silky asked.

"I left a glove on the ice. I was looking for it." Jack replied, zipping up his bag. "We leaving now?"

"You disappeared!" I exclaimed.

"I wasn't gone that long." He looked around at all of us. "What's the big deal?"

"We were all looking for you," Blake said.

"I'll be waiting outside." I said, loosing my patience. "You're _still_ here?" I asked incredulously as I found Mac waiting outside.

"My ride is late. What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing."

"You seem pissed. How come?"

I glared at him. How dare he ask me what was wrong! "My brother was being a jerk." I said angrily. "You don't just leave without telling anyone where you're going."

"Like you haven't done that before?" He raised his eyebrow.

"That's not the point. But I wouldn't expect you to know what it's like to think your sibling is missing."

"Why do you say that?" There was an edge to his voice.

"Because you wouldn't. It's. . .scary to think that your brother is dead or missing."

"You know what, Cal?" he asked just as a car pulled up in front of us. "You really should get to know people before you make assumptions about them." Then he three his stuff in the back of the car and got in shotgun, slamming the door close. Then car sped away but I was still standing there. What was _that_ all about? I tried to shrug off the comment but I couldn't. It nagged me for the rest of the day.

**So yeah, um, I don't own **_**Miracle **_**and the poems were all by ****Marcus Valerius Martialis (or Martial). He's one of my favorites so I had to put some of his work in here. **

**Signing off! **


	13. I Can't Tell You What I Don't Know

**Here goes lucky number thirteen. Hockeychick19 and dahlia687: Thanks again for reviewing. I love to hear what you guys think! **

**Now what are you still doing up here? Start reading!**

A few days later, I was at a game again. This time alone. Blake was "busy", although I'm pretty sure she just didn't want to be seen with the Deranged Hockey Maniac from Boston. Oh well. It's her loss.

Meanwhile, the guys want me to be some sort of cheerleader at games because they are in desperate need in the fan department. No thank you. I'd rather yell at the refs. Like what I was doing now.

"That was a fucking hook! Get some glasses and a clue!" I sat down in my seat and took a deep breath. All these games were starting to wear me out. I had to admit, the team was getting gradually better. I wasn't saying they had a chance of bringing home a medal (everyone was still skeptical about that), but at least we wouldn't make a complete fool of ourselves. I had faith that OC wouldn't get cut. I was sure he was making an important contribution to the team, or was that just me being his sister? I prayed that the coaches saw it too. I hoped they saw it in all of my guys. Rizzo seemed the most nervous about getting cut, but he was the freaking captain. Come on, Brooks.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a person in the row behind me, a few seats back, that looked as if his head was turned toward me. I looked over my shoulder. A guy about my age, or maybe a little younger, was giving me a large goofy smile. Before I could speak, he said, "I'm glad you're on our side."

"USA fan?"

"Hell yeah! I'm glad I'm not the only one! Good job for telling off that ref—he deserved it."

The right corner of my mouth turned up. "Thanks. I think we should all support the team."

"Yeah, I know. Too bad no one believes that they can do anything. I do, though. I'm sure they're at least getting bronze."

"You do?" I asked as he moved a few seats over so we could hear each other better. Now that we were close, I got a good look at him. He had short dark hair that was the exact same shade as his eyes. A bag of popcorn was in the crook of one arm and a cup of soda in his other hand.

"What I figure is they've already made progress, right? There's about four months until the Olympics. If they keep getting better, who knows? They did pretty well in Europe."

"I guess you're right."

"I'm Andrew, by the way." he went on.

"Cal," I said, awkwardly reaching over to shake his hand.

"I didn't think they were many other hardcore fans, but I think you are."

"I sort of have to be. My brother's on the team."

"NO WAY!" he yelled and bits of popcorn flew out of his mouth. He blushed. "Whoops. Sorry." He leaned over and flicked a food glob off my shirt. Ew. I had not seen that. "My brother is on the team too!"

"Seriously?" I leaned forward in my seat. I had never met any of the teams' relatives. We could, you know, _relate._

"Yeah, who's yours?"

"Jack O'Callahan. Number 17."

He screwed his face up and chewed on a popcorn kernel. "Wouldn't that make your name Cal. . .O'Callahan?"

"Yup,"

"That's the coolest name I've ever heard!"

I liked this guy. Nobody had ever complimented my name before. "Thanks!"

"That's much better than my name. Boring Andrew McClanahan."

Oh, Christ. "McClanahan?" I asked weakly.

"Yeah. My brother's Rob McClanahan."

If my jaw had dropped any lower it would have hit the ground.

"Ohhh, I see." he drew it out. Then his eyes lit up. "Aren't you the chick that socked my brother in the stomach?"

I had almost forgotten all about that. _Good times._ "That was me." I beamed with happiness.

"I wanted to shake your hand as soon I found out!"

"He _told_ you?"

"Well, when he and Janny—you know, Steve Janaszak—visited me and my parents last month Janny spilled the beans. I practically fell out of my chair laughing. Why'd you do it?"

"He was talking smack about my brother. Jack."

"Smack about Jack. That rhymes, you know." He looked off in the distance for a second, looking thoughtful. "Sorry about my brother. He can be a real dork sometimes, right?"

I laughed. "It's okay, I got even."

He smiled the same happy smile. "Good. I hate when people fight, but Robby should get what he deserves."

I_ really_ liked this guy.

"Does that mean you're mad about the 76 game?" he asked. "Because I'm not. I never have been. I don't even dislike BU."

"You don't?" I was pretty shocked.

"Well, I've never met anyone that went there—until now, I guess (and _you_ seem pretty nice) so who am I to judge? Are you holding a grudge, too?"

I didn't like that word: _grudge_. Not at all. But maybe that's what it was. "Well, yeah, I am, but I got some steam out of punching him." I actually felt bad about saying that.

"So we can't be friends?" His eyes looked so big and sad. "Why can't we just put all that behind us? It didn't really have anything to do with us, right?"

_It didn't have anything to do with me._ But it did. This was my brother we were talking about. _But it happened so long ago. _ But truthfully, when it all came down to it, I didn't feel that mad anymore.

I figured right now, as I was meeting someone as cool as Andrew, it wouldn't hurt to stop being mad. Just for a little while. I was definitely going to give him a chance. "Okay. Let's start fresh."

"Yay! We could just be any two people meeting for the first time at a hockey game. What do you say?"

"I say let's be friends."

"Awesome!"

"So are you Mac's only sibling?" I was curious.

"No, we have a sister too. Samantha. She's in the middle. I'm the youngest."

So Mac was the oldest. I was the youngest. Do I hear polar opposites? Yes.

"We have a pretty large family. My mom has four sisters, I have about twenty great uncles and aunts. . ." A sudden image of a big happy family around a table flashed in my mind. Of course Mac had had an easy life with two parents that loved him and a big house full of noise and relatives over every holiday. A family of dimples and curls and kids who looked just like their parents and too much homemade food to go around. Love, love, everywhere.

There was no constant fighting or divides. Things you were afraid to talk about. There were no mistakes that you had to face every day until you couldn't take it anymore so you left. There were no things that you pretended didn't happen because you didn't want to remember.

What did I expect?

"What about you? Anyone besides Jack?" Andrew asked me.

"Nope. Just him. He's older than me by about a year and a half."

"We're both the babies! We make such great friends!"

I really did want to be friends with Andrew, but I felt like I was betraying my brother at the same time.

"Do you want to go congratulate the boys on their win?"

"What?" I spun around to look at the scoreboard. 3-1. Pretty impressive.

"Miracle of miracles! Let's go." I climbed over my seat so I could be next to Andrew. Everyone else in the stands was getting up to leave, heading toward the exits.

"Follow the leader!" Andrew sang. I laughed and turned to go. I hadn't taken a few steps when someone a few rows up caught my eye. I stopped dead in my tracks so I could get a better look.

_Slam!_ Something very solid ran into me. I stumbled forward but was able to grab the back of a chair before I hit the ground. I straightened up as quickly as I could.

"Cal?" I heard Andrew ask. He must not have been looking when he walked into me. I ignored him for a second and scanned the crowd, my eyes jumping from face to face. Where I had seen _that_ face, that person—the place was now swimming with other people. Strangers. "Are you okay?" Andrew was asking again. "I'm sor—hey, what are you looking at?"

"I thought I saw. . .I mean, I could have sworn. . ."

"What?"

I blinked and snapped out of it. "Nothing. I—it's nothing."

"Oh. Okay."

I started walking again. My legs felt like jelly.

Twenty minutes later, Jack, Rizzo, Mac, Andrew and I were at a deli. I peeked out above my menu to observer how this situation that I thought wouldn't happen in a million years was going. Even thought Mac had his menu open up in front of him, his eyes were darting back and forth like he was some very obvious spy. He suddenly looked up and caught my gaze. 'What?' he mouthed and looked back down.

"So, do you go to the U of M, Andrew?" Rizzo asked, trying to make polite conversation.

"What?" Andrew looked up from folding his napkin into what looked like a paper crane. "Oh, yeah. This is my first year."

"You live on campus?" Jack asked. "I'm wondering 'cause I haven't seen you around."

"No, actually. I live with my parents. They're so close there's really no point in moving out yet."

"What are you studying?" I asked.

"Communications,"

"Because he talks so much," Mac said and everyone laughed.

"Har har, bro. My teacher thinks I'm quiet."

"Well, your teacher's in for a big surprise." He addressed the rest of us, "Andrew is not quiet."

"Wow. I'd never thought I'd say this but—Mac, it seems like we have something in common." OC speculated.

Mac smiled crookedly and sipped from his straw. "What's that?"

"We both have obnoxious little siblings."

"Hey!" Andrew and I said simultaneously.

"Finally someone who knows what it's like!" Mac cried. "Aren't little sibling the worst tattle-tales?"

"Definitely. Cal would always—"

"Eh-hem, O'Callahan. I saved your ass more times than I got you in trouble." I interrupted.

Mac looked at me for a few seconds, the turned to Jack. "Does she do that a lot?"

"What?"

"Refer to people by their last name,"

"Oh, yeah. She does is whenever she's irritated with you even if you have the _same_ last name."

"I think she does it out of love." Rizzo said.

Oh, Lord. He did not just say that.

"Well, older siblings are ruthless, aren't they Cal?" Andrew said.

"Hmm? Oh—absolutely."

"Robby used to give me wet willies."

"Only because you deserved them," he said defensively.

"Hey, Drew." I said to get Andrew's attention. "Jack would tackle me all the time. Well, when he wasn't slamming me into the boards. He practiced checking on me all the time. I'm the reason why he's so good."

While Andrew choked on his drink, Mac asked me, "How'd you know his nickname was Drew?"

I shrugged. "I dunno."

"That's better than what _you_ called me," Andrew scoffed. "_Andrea._"

This I got to choke on my drink. Jack grinned and said, "Classic,"

"Hey, they have a juke box here!" I said excitedly. "I'm gonna go play something." I stood up and felt around in my pockets. "Does anybody have any change?"

"Do you have _any_ money at tall, ever?" Jack asked.

"I have some," Mac said, standing up from our booth also. "But I'm not sharing!"

"I guess I'll have to make sure you don't pick anything bad," I trotted after him.

"Don't follow me, I'm not giving you any money." he said as we headed for the juke box.

"I'm not following you, I'm _supervising_ you."

"Gross. Someone picked Mary MacGregor ." Mac started turning the pages.

"'Torn Between Two Lovers' makes me want to slam my head in a car door."

"Masochistic much?" he laughed. "How 'bout Morris Albert?"

"Nooo way. You can't be serious."

"I kinda like 'Feelings'." He shrugged and ducked his head to get a better look at the songs.

"I kinda don't. Play something by Zeppelin. Or Pink Floyd."

"Hey, I have the money here. Money equals power. Okay, I got something."

"What is it?"

"It's a surprise. Now wait for it. . .wait for it. . ."

I immediately recognized the bongo drums in the beginning of the song "One Love" by Bob Marley. "Wow. I'm impressed." I admitted.

"I have excellent taste in music. . .or so I've been told."

"Yeah, yeah, it's not half bad." I rolled my eyes. "Marley's pretty cool."

"The steel drums are the best part."

"I just like the lyrics:_ One love, one heart; Let's get together and feel alright."_

"It's all about how everyone in the world should stop fighting and become one." He said contemplatively.

_How ironic_. "Why do you think that?"

"Well, just the title is like everybody loves in the same way, so why not love everyone? It's a nice message."

"Sounds like you really thought about that."

He shrugged. "I don't _just_ cheap people, you know."

It was a joke. I found myself laughing. "I know that."

"Well, you don't always show it."

"So maybe I don't show _everything_ I'm feeling _all_ the time. So what?"

"So nothing. That's normal. Anyway, it's a good message right now with the Cold War and everything. It's all about. . .hate, you know?"

"That's pretty good commentary."

"Are you being sarcastic?"

"No," I said almost like a question. "I mean, it's a good interpretation of the song."

"Oh. Thanks."

"No problem."

Our attention was turned back to our table when we heard Andrew go, "YEEEEAAAAHHHHHH!" like in that Who song, "Won't Get Fooled Again". He was doing air guitar and everything.

"Sorry he's so embarrassing," Mac said, yanking at the collar of his shirt.

"I like him."

"You do?"

"Yeah, he's pretty cool."

"Even if he's related to me?"

"Sure,"

_Let's get together to fight this Holy Armageddon (One Love)_

___So when the Man comes there will be no no doom (One Song)_

The song filled our silence.

"You know, you're a lot nicer to me when we're alone." Mac said.

"I am?"

"Yeah, it's kinda nice."

_Sayin' One Love, One Heart_

___Let's get together and feel all right_

"Maybe we should do this more often. You know, Drew and you and me. I mean, your brother seems to be enjoying himself."

"Yeah. . ." It was weird but true.

We ended up driving home pretty late. In my car, Jack was driving and I was sitting shotgun. Rizzo was in his own car (it was fixed now). I leaned my head against the window and watched the asphalt rush by. "Do you like Andrew?" I asked Jack.

"Of course I do. He's a funny kid. Why?"

"Just wondering. I do too."

"I wasn't very excited when you guys told me I had to go out to eat with Mac, but I'm glad I did."

"You like him ever though he's Mac's brother?"

He scrunched up his shoulders. "Sibling's can be different."

"They have a sister, too, you know. Her name's Samantha. Mac is the oldest." I rambled.

"I kinda feel sorry for him. It must be hard with two little siblings."

I knew he was joking but I felt seriously all of a sudden. "McClanahan never did anything hard in his whole life."


	14. I'm Feeling Reckless

**Holy crap, I am so sorry for that wait. This website has seriously been pissing me off. It would NOT upload this chapter. I tried a million times. But finally I was able to. Thanks for waiting.**

**Hockeychick19, dahlia687: Thanks for always reviewing. BlurredHorizen: Thanks so much. It's really cool that you like my story. **

**I have a feeling this took a while. But I've been kinda busy lately and had a bit of writer's block. **

"David Mark Silk!" I screamed through the door. "Your hair looks fine!"

The door of his dorm opened and he stuck his head out. "Are you sure it's not doing that floppy thing?"

"No," I said even though I had no idea what he was talking about.

"Are you _sure?"_

I sighed as loudly as I could manage. "Yesss!" We were heading to the bar to celebrate Mark Johnson's birthday. "Can we go now?"

He looked around uneasily. "I wanna talk to you first."

"We can talk in the car. Or if you wanna get fancy, we can even walk and talk. Let's goo-"

"Alright. In the car."

Five minutes later I was backing out of the parking lot. It was one of those freak warm days in fall right before it got really cold snowed until April.

"Um, Callie?" Silky asked.

"Yeah?" I said, concentrating on not killing the entire squirrel population of Minnesota.

"Well, I need to tell you something."

Why was he being so weird? I yanked the steering wheel to the right. "Shoot,"

"Are you listening? I need you to pay attention."

"I'm listening, alright? Tell me."

"Okay, well. . .I like Blake. I mean, as more than a friend."

"This is your incredibly important news?" I asked. "Really—?"

"No, I wanted to ask if you if I could. . .you know."

"What?"

"Ask her out!" he replied exasperatedly. "I want to ask her out."

Oh, woo hoo. _You have got to be kidding me._ "You're kidding me!"

"No, I'm not. Since she's your friend I thought I'd better tell you first to see if you were okay with it. Do you think she likes me back?"

I just shook my head like I could believe it, because I couldn't.

"It wouldn't be too weird, would it? Come on, Cals, why aren't you answering?"

"No, I'm not okay with it! I'm not gonna let you ask her out so you can get with her. Normally I wouldn't care if it was some other random girl. But Blake's my friend."

"But it's not like that," he said, turning in the seat to face me. "I really like her. She's smart and pretty and really nice. I wouldn't just want to sleep wit her." He seemed a little hurt.

I looked at him carefully while trying to keep my eyes on the road at the same time. "Realllly?"

"Yeah."

I squeezed his shoulder and pretended to get teary-eyed. "I think you're growing up."

"Cal," he said seriously. "You haven't answered my question."

I put both my hands back on the wheel and took a deep, thought provoking threat. "What if you guys break up or have a fight, what am I supposed to do? She's my roommate, okay? It would be totally awkward."

"Well, obviously you would take my side because we've been best friends since the beginning of college, which is a long time. You've only known Blake for a few months."

I tried a different tactic. "You know she's from Minnesota, right? Rochester. She goes to U of M. Why would want to take out a girl like that?"

"Well, I thought about that and. . ."

"And?"

"I don't think that matters."

"You don't?"

"Don't you think it's about time to let that go?" he sighed.

"No," I grumbled, gripping the steering wheel tighter, trying to block out any thought that said otherwise.

"I'll try extra hard for it not to end badly. Please, please, let me ask her out? She's coming, right?"

"Yeah, she's coming over after she gets off from work." I was avoiding looking at him anymore because I knew he was doing the I-Thought-I-Was-Your-Best-Friend Face. I'm guessing he had created it when he was a little kid (and he got away with a lot), but he still used it. He widened his eyes to golf balls and slightly parted his lips. We hated to admit it, but it pretty much worked on all of us (especially Rizzo). If any of us ever became parents and he taught our children that look, they would be the most terrible, spoiled rotten kids ever.

"So can I tonight?"

"Fine!" I sighed, knowing that I would probably regret it.

He hugged me, causing me to almost ram headlong into another car. We had to wait a second to calm down from almost being killed. I hoped it wasn't a bad omen.

**XXXXXXXXX**

When I parked the car, I check my reflection in the rear view mirror before getting out. In this light, my eyes looked like rain clouds heavy with water. My bangs really needed to be cut and my forehead was still a little discolored from falling. But other than all that, I looked all right.

Jimmy, OC and Rizzo all turned out to be late. Silky was too nervous to be fun. I couldn't believe he was nervous. He had never been nervous about girls before. I guess there's a first time for everything.

I wandered around the bar for a while, looking for Mark. Instead I found Andrew. We had met up a few times on campus to hang out. He was always hyper and might have been the one person who was clumsier than me. I liked him way better than Mac, but when I was around Drew he was never too far behind. Mac came and visited him all the time so I had to deal with their brotherly antics (hair ruffling, constant insults—it was extremely annoying).

"I didn't know you were invited." I told him.

"I wasn't, I'm Robby's date. I just met Johnson today. He's good, right? Like the best player on the team?"

"That's what I've heard."

He nodded. "Cool."

"There's the birthday boy!" I sang as Mark walked over to us.

He grinned. "Hey, guys. Thanks for coming."

"Do you even remember who I am?" Drew asked.

"Sure. Mac's brother Andrew, right?"

I knew Mark would remember. He's good with stuff like that.

"So how old are you turning?" I asked.

"Twenty-two. I heard your birthday was coming up, too."

"Yeah, it's in October. How'd you know?"

"Lucky guess."

"How old are you turning?" Drew asked.

"Twenty-one."

"You are so old." He walked away, apparently having said enough.

"You want something to drink?" Mark asked me.

"Sure. Do they serve lemonade here?"

He laughed and led the way to the bar. "Why wouldn't they?"

Mark told the bartender what to get. A few minutes later, Mac strolled over. "Happy birthday, Magic!" he said, ignoring me.

"Thanks."

"Let me buy you a beer!"

"I'm good."

"Come on! It's your birthday." He waved the bartender over. "Two beers, please."

"You really didn't have to—" Mark tired again. That boy was too nice. Or maybe he didn't drink.

"Well, I did." Mac cut him off. "Hey, Cal." he said to me.

"Hi. . ."

"What's this?" He grabbed the sketchbook that was sticking out of my purse. (How did that get in there?)

"Hey!"

He held up a hand. "Take it easy. I'm just looking."

Mark gave me an encouraging smile and handed me a glass full of—yes, lemonade. I watched Mac out of the corner of my eye. He flipped through each page slowly and looked at each drawing one by one. "Did you draw these?"

"Yeah."

"You're really good."

"Not really." I said automatically. "You should see some of the people in my class."

"But I'm not talking about them. I'm talking about _you_, and I think these are good. You're welcome." He stated to hand the book back to me, but Mark intercepted.

"Can I see?"

"No!" I snatched it out of his hands. "I mean, maybe later." I shoved it back in my purse.

Mark shrugged. "Okay," Some of the guys were calling him from across the room. "See you later, then."

"I didn't know you could draw like that." Mac said when he had gone.

"Practice makes perfect, I guess." I chewed on the end of the straw sticking out of my lemonade.

"Are you studying art?" he asked with semi-interest.

"Yep."

"What do you want to do after you graduate?"

"Well, I'm not sure. But I've always wanted to live in some shitty urban town with a cool creative vibe, like somewhere in New York City. You know, a place with lots of starving artists. I could live in a small apartment and paint all day—" I stopped myself, realizing that I was rambling about my hopes and dreams to _Mac. _

He grinned. "Sounds like a plan."

I started to stand up, but Mac suddenly yelled, "Shit—are you serious?" and dived behind the bar. I dumbly looked around, wondering what had just happened. Guessing he had officially gone insane, I leaned over the bar to talk to him. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Don't talk to me. I'm not here." He tried to wave me away.

I straightened up and looked around but could see no reason for him to hide. I casually walked behind the bar even though there was a sign that said EMPLOYEES ONLY. "Are you out of your fucking mind?" I said rather loudly.

"Be quiet!" he grabbed my elbow and pulled me down so I was crouching next to him.

"What are you hiding from?" I asked.

"Shh! Talk quietly." His breath tickled my neck and I saw for the first tine that his eyes looked like two brown marbles. I realized we were much closer than necessary. We both scooted over suddenly, feeling embarrassed, leaving about a foot wide gap in between us.

"Why?" I finally asked. Out of no where I felt like I couldn't grasp a coherent thought. "What are you hiding from?"

"It's my ex. My ex-girlfriend is here."

Of course it is. Minnesota seems to be a hot spot for ex run-ins. "Oh,_ realllly_?"

"Cal, I swear to God, if you do anything—"

"Take it easy," I said calmly. "Which one is she—it is a _she,_ right?"

"Ha ha." he said dryly. "It's the girl by the pool table. The blond one."

I peeked over the top of the bar. A group of girls all wearing short skirts and low-cut, sparkly tops were clustered around the pool table. Not playing pool, just draping themselves all over the guys who were trying to. "Um, you're gonna have to be more specific." I said out of the corner of my mouth.

"The tall one with a tattoo of a rose on the back of her calf."

"Bingo. I see her." I sat back on my heels. "Why don't you want to see her?"

"Did you _not_ hear me? She's my ex."

All I could think about was how I was sure I could smell his cologne. _Snap out if._

"Not all exes are terrible." I pointed out.

"Well, she is. I really don't want to have to talk to her."

"What's her name?"

"Dana Elkins. She went to U of M with me."

"What'd she do that was so bad? "I asked. I swore he smelled like fabric softener. It was actually kind of overpowering, but in a good way. _Stop it._

He rolled his eyes. "Lots of things."

"Well," I said with finality. "I'm gonna go to talk to people I actually like now—goodbye." I thought it was best to get out of there before I did something stupid.

I stood up and walked back around to the front of the bar. That's when Dana turned around and looked right at me. "Oh. My. God." I saw her mouth. .

What the. . .? I looked behind me. Mac was standing there. "Holy shit." I tired to get the hell out of there, but he grabbed my shirt. "Don't leave me alone with her."

"Robby!" With a great clacking of high heels his ex-girlfriend was standing in front of us. Too late to escape now. I was stuck. "It's so good to see you!"

"Hey," he said, attempting to look cheerful. "I thought you moved to Iowa."

"Oh, I did. Just visiting the folks. So how have you been?"

"Okay."

"It's been so long since we've seen each other, Maccy!"

_Maccy?_ It just so happened that I was taking a gulp at the exact moment she said that and had a bit of a choking fit.

She looked at me for the first time, her eyes narrowed. "Who's _this?_"

"Uh, this Cal O'Callahan, my, um, friend. . ." He looked at me as if to ask if that was the right thing to say.

"Your name's _Cal_?"

"Yeah," I said flatly.

"Oh, that's too bad." What was with the attitude?

"_Excuse me_?"

"Cal," Mac touched my arm as if to tell me to calm down. "This is Dana."

"Oh, Elkins?" I asked, giving her a full blast of my dimples. "Mac has told me so much about you, Donna." _Why not?_

"It's Dana." she snapped. "What have you been telling her?"

"She's joking," Mac said quickly, give me an I-am-so-going-to-kill-you-later look.

"Don't you want to talk alone?" Dana continued.

"Well, what do you want to talk about?"

"We haven't seen each other in almost a year!" she exclaimed._ I've_ been really good. I have this great boyfriend. He's studying to become a _doctor_." Dana rambled on for a few minutes about how awesome her life was and how great everything was for her. Finally she asked. "So what have _you _been dong?"

Mac shrugged. "Nothing much."

_Was he joking? _

"Oh, that's too bad." Dana said in a way that was supposed to be sympathetic but was so obviously not. "Because I—"

I couldn't take this anymore. "He's going to the Olympics!" I blurted out.

Mac looked at me like _I_ was the insane one, but Dana didn't seem to notice. "Oh my _God,_ why didn't you tell me?" she asked, smacking him playfully on the chest. "I thought I heard something about that!"

"It's not a big deal.," he mumbled, taking a swig of his drink. He was so uncomfortable it was painful to watch.

"Not a big deal? It's _such_ a big deal. Congratulations!" Could you get any more obvious?

"Is you boyfriend here, Diane?" I piped up again.

She glared at me. "_Dana._ Can we go someplace by ourselves?"

Mac looked at me. "Um, Cal, don't we have to go do that thing?"

"Say happy birthday to Mark?" I helped him out.

"Yeah. Yep. That's it."

"Well, see you later."

We left Dana there, standing in shock. Since Mark was still talking to his friends neither of us knew, we each took a seat at the bar. I didn't say anything about what just happened. After all, it wasn't my business and I guessed he wouldn't want to talk about it. We were having our normal uncomfortable silence when I said without thinking, "You really can't act, can you?"

"What?"

"You practically had a panic attack back there. What's with all the hullabaloo?"

"Well, I don't expect you to understand."

"What does that mean?" I could help but get a little offended.

"You don't have any idea what happened between us. So just stop running your mouth off when you have no idea what you're talking about."

"I don't run my mouth off!" I was trying very hard not to raise my voice. I didn't want to cause a scene on Mark's birthday.

He lout a grunt of frustration, before speaking. "Look. I didn't come here to argue with _you._ I'm done." He walked away conclusively, hands in his pockets. Even thought he had seemingly given up, I felt like I was the one who came up short.

**You may be wondering how Cal is turning 21 now when she's clearly been drinking through this whole thing lol. She doesn't have a fake ID or anything (although that would be cool), but I did some research and turns out in Massachusetts in 1979 the legal drinking age was 20. It was raised to 21 in 1984. And in Minnesota, boy oh boy, in 1976 the drinking age was nineteen until it was raised to 21 in 1986. I bet the Miracle guys were happy they got to college when they did :)**

**Well, sorry for the wait and hounding you with facts you probably don't care about, but as always, please review. **


	15. Don't Need a Home, Just a Place to Sleep

**Okay, don't kill me! I know this took a long time. I've just been really busy lately. **

**Hockey season is almost over. I'm sooo sad. Who else was pissed when the Nucks beat Boston the other day? (assuming you people follow hockey, which I WOULD assume). I think Boston is a better team JUST SAYING**

**ANYWAY sorry I'm so random :P**

**BlurredHroizon: You just might have to wait a teensy bit longer. (Don't be mad! Suspense is good for you!)**

**Dahlia687: Haha, that would have been cool, but I didn't think of it. (Drat! Bad muse!)**

**MegKate: Aww, that's so nice. I love you. (Just kidding! Didn't mean to freak you out!) **

**Well, enough of my banter.**

The longer I knew Mac, the more he confused me. Just when I thought we were starting to get along (which would make the rest of the Olympics a whole lot easier) he got all bent out of shape for some stupid reason, in turn making me livid. All he did was drive me insane. He seemed to be turning into an emotional mess, if you asked me.

"Hello? Wake up!" A balled-up piece of paper hit me in the temple, pulling me out of thoughts that wouldn't go away, even in the middle of English class.

I sat up straight, blinking. "Huh? I'm awake." I said stupidly.

"Well, _now_ you are."

I glared at Juliana Lane. (Now that is a cool name. She said her mom, while pregnant with her, was driving and came across a street called Juliana Lane. Since her new last name was Lane, she decided if the baby was girl her name would be Juliana.I wish my name had a cool story like that. Anyway.) She was sitting next to me and apparently had very good aim. She was more Blake's friend than mine, but no way was I going to sit next to Miss Prince Charming Asked Me Out all day. Just no. I will not be subjected to that kind of torture.

"Why do you keep zoning out?" Julie asked me.

"No reason," I shrugged, trying to look innocent. I didn't; want anyone to know I couldn't stop thinking Mac—and how much he bugged me, of course. That freaked _me _out.

"Are you thinking about your crush?"

"Gross! No!" I got a warning look from Mrs. Lanters for that. "Sorry," I mouthed and sank a little lower in my seat.

"Well, you kind of looked like Blake over there," Julie said, gesturing with her hand to where Blake was sitting. She looked dreamily out the window.

I tired not to gag. "_No_ way. I was not."

"How can you se your own face?"

I threw my hands up in the air. "I give up!"

Another warning look. "Anyway, I want to meet this Silly guy. You know, see why Blake likes him so much." Julie whispered to me after Lanters turned her back.

"_Silky,_"I corrected, annoyed.

"What kind of name is that?"

I almost yelled for real. "It's a_ nickname_ and it's the only name I call him."

"So when can I meet him?"

"Well, they have practice this afternoon. .. "

"Oh, my gosh, can I come?"

"I guess. . .if you want. But you can only meet them after practice is over."

"I wan to come."

"Fine."

Of course, Blake just had to go. They went on one date—_one_—and now she's practically making wedding planes. It's kind of creepy. I led Julie and Blake to the stands where we could watch from afar and stay out of trouble. Plus, I really didn't want to be around Brooks when he was on one of his rants.

"So which one is he?" Julie started yapping as soon as we got in there.

"He hasn't come out yet."

"Ooh, who's that? Is he _that_ one? Or that one? No, I hope not—I like him."

"You like _him_?" I scoffed.

"Well, what's wrong with him?"

Blake smirked. "They don't get along."

"Why not?"

"We just don't." I snapped.

"Cal clocked him."

"Blake!" I cried.

"What?" she laughed. "You did. I thought you were proud of it."

"I am. But don't just go blabbering it to people. They'll be scared of me."

"Alright. Sorry. Do you want to get something to eat?"

"Not hungry."

"I am." Julie piped up. "We'll meet you back here, Callie."

"Yeah, okay." A minute later, I was alone. Hardly anybody else showed up to watch the practices. I don't think anybody was taking the team seriously which pissed me off. I didn't think they were going to be a _huge _ failure.

"Cal! Hey, Cal!"

I looked down to see who was calling my name. Silky, of course. I should have guessed. "What?" I yelled.

He skated right up to the glass. "Come! Here!"

I made sure no coaches were looking then came down to ice level. "What do you want?"

"Is Blake with you?"

"Yeah."

"How is she?"

I raised my eyebrows at him. "Didn't you_ just_ see her?"

He glanced over his shoulder. "Hey, um, could you come down by the benches?"

I shook my head. "What? Why?"

"Could you just do it? I have to ask you something. . .again. In private, though."

"You can tell me after practice is over." I started to walk away.

"No!" he cried, stopping me. "Brooks won't come in for another ten minutes, at least. Just come down. Please?"

I begrudgingly agreed and met him by the benches a few minutes later. "So, has Blake said anything about me?" he asked as we stood by the water cooler.

"Yeah," I said, messing around with an extra stick. "About a million times. . ."

"Really?" to my surprise, he sounded worried.

"Yeah, so? She won't stop gushing." I mimed a slap shot and almost caught Mark Wells on the back of the ear.

He pried the stick from my hands before I caused some real damage. "I'm just nervous," he said sheepishly, shrugging.

I just had to roll my eyes then. "Yeah, I can tell."

"Okay boys, let's get to work!"

I jumped out of the way when I heard Coach Brooks' voice. Silky quickly sat on the bench, and I jammed my back against the boards and tried to be invisible. Coach Patrick walked out next. He gave me a look that signaled he knew he had seen my face before but he didn't know who I was. _Come on, invisible powers._

I watched as they started doing some tedious-looking drills. _I am so glad I'm not them right now_, I thought. I was getting tired just _watching _ them. My eyes felt very heavy. Maybe I'd close them for a little. Yes, that felt good.

"O'CALLAHAN!"

I jumped a mile. "Ah! What? What? I'm awake!" I quickly realize it was Brooks yelling, but he wasn't even talking to me. He screamed at my brother. Well, of course. That's obvious.

Jack skidded to a stop by the benches and snapped his head around. "Yes?" I knew he was trying his hardest to keep the annoyance from his voice.

"How many times have I told you to listen to the goalkeeper?"

"Sorry, Coach. I will next time." Jack said, avoiding eye contact. I could tell he wanted Brooks to just drop it. So did I.

"That's what you said last time and the time before that. When are you going to do what I tell you?" A vain was pulsing in Brooks' neck. I normally would have noticed how gross this was, but I was too busy listening to the endless reel of insults he was hurling at my brother. He went on far past the time a decent person would have shut up.

I realized my fingernails were digging into the palms of my hands. I heard my teeth grinding together. Wasn't he going to shut up? This was brutal. "Shut up!" at first, I thought, who's dumb enough to yell that at Herb Brooks?

But it was me. I had just spoken. Loudly. It was unnaturally quiet, Brooks having closed his trap (probably out of surprise). Everyone was staring at me. Jack shot a death glare at me, but nothing was worse than how Herb looked at me. "Excuse me, O'Callahan?" He was talking to me.

Fuck.

I needed to die. Stab a skate into my heart, something. _Now would definitely be a good time to disappear._

"Well?" He was still waiting for an answer.

Fuck. Again.

"I'll go," I stuttered. Yes. That was good. _Leave._

I grabbed my bag and ran faster than the time when I was eight and broke my neighbor's window with a baseball. I didn't stop until I was at my car. I was seriously never going to the U again.

Ever.

**XXXXXXXXX**

"I cannot believe you did that!" Julie shrieked in my ear.

I pushed her a good foot away. The bar was crowded and I'd rather be in my dorm, drawing the inner workings of my soul or something of that nature.

"I can't believe you abandoned us at the U." Blake added.

"Pshaw, Blakey. You loved riding home with Silky." Julie looked at me. "They were _all_ over each other."

I did not need to know that. Blake and Silky having—_ahem_—intimate experiences freaked me out beyond belief. "This isn't fun. Can we go home now?"

"Stop sulking!" Blake pushed my arm.

"Yeah, have a drink."

Okay, to be honest, I wasn't drinking because I didn't feel like waking up on the floor (I was starting to think seriously about what kind of back problems I would have when I got to be middle aged) with a killer headache. I was not drinking myself stupid.

Jack was ignoring me. He wouldn't even make eye contact. I knew I shouldn't have yelled like that. I don't what happened. It was just so. . .so much like. . .our father. That's what Brooks had been reminding me of all this time. It made me want to scream. I couldn't stand when people talked to Jack like that. I didn't know how_ he_ could stand it.

"Hey," Blake said quietly. "Just relax, okay? He'll get over it."

I just shrugged. "I know." He was my brother, right? He couldn't stay mad at me forever. I made my way across the bar. I saw Jack and tried to catch his eye, but nothing. I bit my lip. I really needed him to forgive me. I felt bad enough already. Maybe if I went outside he would follow me. Sometimes you needed to let Jack confront you.

"Hey, Cal!"

I knew that voice. I definitely knew it. But why. . .? Standing a few yards away, Bah was the one calling my name. Maybe if I pretended not to hear. . .

"Come on. I know you can hear me."

Guess that wasn't going to work. I slowly walked over, hoping that maybe I would break my leg or start getting violently sick before I reached him. No such luck.

"Hey. . .how are you?"

"Fine."

Pause. "Do you have a second?"

I shrugged. "I guess. Why?"

"I want to tell you something." He motioned for me to follow him. I did until we were standing where nobody else was around. He rubbed his chin before speaking. "God, you must think I'm a dick. . .Well, what I wanted to say was, Cal, I like you, you know as person. Like I want to be your friend. And I think I just really fucked up."

I was slightly shocked. "No, Bah, I mean, I think I should take the blame."

He waved his hand. "I should have stopped it."

"And _I_ could have stopped it, but I didn't. It was stupid."

"Okay, so maybe we're both to blame. But like I said, I'd like to be your friend. Can things just be cool between us? I only want to move on."

"That would be great," I said truthfully. "And I don't think you're a dick."

"You don't?"

"No. Actually I've been thinking I was the bitch."

He laughed. "No. You're cool, you know? So, are we friends?"

"Yeah."

He smiled. "Good. Just take care of yourself. Not all guys are as nice as me."

I blinked. I had no idea what that was supposed to mean.

"Cal, if you ever need anything, just give me a call, okay? Really. It's not a problem."

I nodded slowly. "Okay. . ."

"I mean it. Well, see you later?" he said it as a question.

"Yeah. I'll see you."

He gave me a half wave and that was the end of our conversation. Why were people constantly telling me that they "weren't hard to reach" or "call me anytime"? Maybe because I was from out of town or something. Whatever. I didn't think much more about it.

Now I was getting outside if it killed me. I had to past Mac and Rammer (who were standing right by the door) to do this, but it was worth it. I was not stopping for conversation. I squeezed past them and was almost home free when I tripped over some idiot's foot and was heading face-first toward the floor. I came to a screeching halt when two arms wrapped around my midsection.

"Jesus," Mac's soft voice trickled into my ear. "Watch yourself, Cal."

I inhaled sharply, still kind of shaken up. My heart skipped a beat when I started to fall.

"Be careful," he murmured, slowly dropping his arms from around my waist now that my feet were firmly planted on the ground.

"You really are clumsy!" Rammer laughed, clapping me on the back, causing me to loose my balance again. Mac firmly grabbed my arm this time to steady me.

"You okay?' he asked quietly.

I nodded. "Thanks." I whispered. He was still behind me so I couldn't see his face, and I sure was glad he couldn't see mine.

Rammer, oblivious to this exchange, crowed, "That's a good way to knock out your front teeth, Cal."

"Yeah," I laughed shakily. I felt embarrassed so I got out of there as fast as I could. Then the door opened behind me. I spun around. Mac was standing there. "What?"

He looked slightly taken aback. "Erm, I just wanted to say that what you did today at practice? It really wasn't a big deal. Actually, I thought it was pretty cool."

I looked hard at him and tired to identify any trace of sarcasm. As far as I could tell, he was being genuine. "You thought it was cool?" I remembered to speak.

He shifted from foot to foot. "Yeah—"

"Why?" I interrupted.

He stopped and gave me an irritated look before talking again. "Well, I know Herb can be a real jack ass sometimes. I've wanted to say something in the past, but I never have. So if people—" he gave me a pointed look, like he knew Jack was resenting me—"Are giving you crap, I just think you should, um, ignore it."

I nodded slowly, still trying to figure him out. "Right."

"Okay. I have to go." He suddenly wouldn't make eye contact.

"Bye," I said stupidly, watching him walk away without further ado. Huh. Weird.

**XXXXXXXXXX**

Oh God. I had a really bad neck ache. _Really_ bad. I groaned as I tried to move. Wait a minute, this was _not_ my bed. This was not my dorm! Where the hell was I? I shot from lying down into a sitting position like a rocket. I looked around. I was in a living room with a TV and chair that _matched_ the couch I was on. This was definitely not a dorm room.

I rubbed my eyes with my fists as if that would help at all. I kept having mental images of the Bates Motel from _Psycho._ I was thoroughly regretting ever reading that book. _Okay, don't panic. There has to be some logical reason for this_. I pulled off the knitted blanked on top of my legs and stood up on (very) shaky legs. Across the room there was a door that lead to what I assumed was a kitchen. I heard someone moving around in there. _Please don't be a psychotic serial killer. _

Well, I had to do something. I cleared my throat then coughed. Loudly. A head poked into the room. A very familiar-looking head. Mark! I'm glad I hadn't been kidnapped but also worried that I had possibly spent another drunken night with one of my brother's teammates. Something told me that was not the way to get him to forgive me.

"Where are we?" I asked, as if he wouldn't now.

"Oh, this is my apartment. Bob lives here, too."

"Bob?"

"You know, Suter? You've met him, right?"

"Oh, yeah. Him." I felt like a jerk. I hungover jerk that's crashing on your couch. "Err, what happened exactly?" I almost didn't want to ask. Some things are best left forgotten.

Mark blushed. "Well, you passed out on the bar. Silky seemed busy with your

friend . . .Blake, I think her name is? And Jack was—he, uh. . ."

"He what?"

"He said that it was your own fault for passing out."

I winced. Jack was that mad he abandoned me? And nobody else could take me home? That seemed kind of ass hole-ish.

"I wasn't going to leave you there," Mark went on. "So I brought you here. That's okay, right?"

_Was that okay?_ "Yeah, it's okay! Thanks. Really, Mark. You're a life saver." I possibly meant that literally.

"It's no big deal. I mean, I'm sure someone else would have taken care of you.I just called your brother. He's coming to pick you up."

Oh, so _now_ he deices to take care of me?

Mark lets me use his shower to clean up. Suter lets me a borrow a Badgers T-shirt that's huge on me and Addidas shorts that were going to fall off any second. I put my clothes . from last night into a grocery bag. About twenty minutes after I had breakfast, Jack shows up.

"Rough night, huh, Calster?" he said, nudging me.

As far as I can tell he pretending nothing happened. "Yeah."

"Thanks Magic. She can be a real handful sometime, right?" Nudge. Nudge. His smile looked as if it were too bgi for his face. Everything about this conversation was forced.

Mark couldn't understand why was he being so cheery. "Yeah. . .no problem."

We finally leave. Jack and I were unnaturally silent in the car. He didn't seem mad just. . .tense. He was gripping the life out of the steering wheel and kept almost running stoplights, cursing and slamming on the brakes at the last second. He also wouldn't look me in the face. I knew there had to be _something_ up with him, but I couldn't bring myself to ask.

He walked with me to my dorm. It was empty. "Where's Blake?" Jack asked, looking around.

"At school," I replied, setting the grocery bag on the counter.

"Shouldn't you be at school too?"

"Well, yes."

He lip curled up slightly (and not in the good way) but he didn't say anything. I opened the fridge and took out a jug of orange juice, waiting for him to leave. But I could tell he wasn't budging. "Jack? I'm okay now."

"I know you are." he said because he wanted me to be. "I know you're okay."

I wasn't sure who he was trying to convince

**Alright, I'd just like to wish you all a good summer. My vacation plans are still kind of up in the air at the moment, so I don't know if I'll be able to consistently post chapters over the summer. Don't be alarmed if I don't post anything for a while. I'll do my best to continue this thing, but I don't when I'll get the chance. If I'm a complete jerk and don't post anything, I'll definitely make up for it when things settle down. I want to finish this! **

**Thanks for reading!**


	16. This is for Every Dirty Awful Word

**Surprise, surprise, I'm back. I know it's been months and anyone who has actually taken the time to click on this is probably really pissed at me. I just want to say that things were really crazy for me around the time I stopped posting, and I'm really sorry I just bailed out like that. It probably had something to do with the fact that I had to get a completely new computer, I moved, and I lost the flash drive this story was on (along with the three or so next chapters I was going to post). Also I've really had no desire to write at all in a long time. But it just so happened that a couple of weeks ago, I opened my e-mail that I had stopped using forever ago and realized this chapter was saved as a draft (I have no idea why). Then my friend was encouraging me to write more and I thought about posting the chapter, but I honestly didn't feel like finishing the story anymore. I didn't think it was all that popular anyway. Then I found out BlurredHorizon had written a review and I figured what the hell, why not put this chapter to some good since I have it. So I'm posting this. I felt bad about leaving you guys hanging, and to be honest this chapter might even be a worse one to stop at. But I have a really good job now and it's keeping me really busy and maybe I'll add a few more chapters, but I just don't know. The truth is, I missed this story and I missed writing it. So here you go. Again, no guarantees that I'll be posting any more. I'll try, I guess. Also, I'm really sorry.**

I was an officially an idiot. No, worse than an idiot. I can't believe I forgot my wallet. I really needed to invest in a purse that did not spew out my personal belongings every where I went. At first, I seriously thought I could get away with going on about my life with no money, several forms of identifications and my driver's license. After a few hectic days of hoping I didn't get pulled over, I decided the madness must end. It was time to go back to the U. And why am I even more stupid? I decided to go when the team was having practice. Of course. Meet me, the genius.

I walked up to the front desk and asked the lady if they had a lost and found. I could just get my wallet and hightail it out of there. But nooo, she just had to further my torture and make me walk around the damned place. I decided to go to the locker room because, after all, I did go in there a lot. But practice could be over by now and then I would have to face them all. I knew I didn't have any reason to be so nervous (hopefully) but I felt I somehow wore out my welcome or violated my rights.

Okay. I wasn't going to be a coward about this. I was just going to plow right in there and quickly look for my wallet. The players didn't have anything against me, right? Jack and I didn't even have it out. We didn't have a shouting match like we usually did after some disagreement. It just kind of fizzled out. I never called him out for leaving me at the bar. Because, when it all came down to it, I guess it was my fault that I got completely shit-faced. Anyway, I didn't want him to think I couldn't handle all that alcohol. Go ahead, leave me at a bar. See what I care.

The only one in the locker room was—do I even have to say? I couldn't believe it. It's like the fates were out to get me. Why do we always end up alone together? "Where's everybody else?" I asked Mac uncertainly, like this was some prank.

"Herb let me go early."

"Why?"

"What do you care?" he said, sounding as if no one could irritate him as much as me.

I shook my head, trying to stay on topic. "Look, have you seen my wallet?"

"No." he snapped.

Whoa. . .did I hear a tone? I tried to think if I had done anything wrong to make him angry lately; Nope. The last time I checked, we _weren't_ trying to kill each other. "What's your problem?"

"Right now, you are." he muttered.

"God, is there always something jammed up your ass?" I deadpanned.

"Why don't you just—"

"No!" I cut him off. And that's when I lose it a little bit. "What's your deal? Obviously you have a problem. What did I do?"

He didn't say anything. He stared at the floor.

"I'm tired of this back and forth shit."

He opened his mouth to speak but I kept on going.

"I think we're friends and then you act like an ass. It's driving me crazy! I know I've said shit to you, but come on."

He stood up. "Cal, I'm—"

"Just shut up and hear me out. I don't get you. I want this to end. I mean, I want us to get along. I'm going to have to see you for the next couple of months and I don't want to have feel like this every time I do."

He started walking toward me.

"Why do you bother me like this? Stop toying with me!" He was right in front of me now. I didn't even think about what he was doing—I was too angry—I just kept on going. "I don't know who you think you are—"

"I know." he said, putting his hands on my shoulders and surprising me so much I stopped yelling. "This is why." He leaned toward me and before I could do anything, he pressed his lips to mine. My first instinct was to push him away, but another feeling of overwhelming calm washed over me an instant later. It didn't last long, though. My mind went on overdrive.

_He's kissing me. Why is he kissing me? Why am I kissing him back? Why do I like it? I shouldn't like it! This is definitely not normal. Stop. But I don't want to. You have to stop. I don't want to. It's wrong. I need to stop this. Come on, Cal. You are KISSING Rob McClanahan!_

After a full five seconds, I finally came to my senses. I put my hands on his chest and pushed him a few inches away. "I can't do this," I breathed. I couldn't meet his eyes. I took a step back.

"I'm sorry." he whispered.

I just shook my head as I turned toward the door, then stopped. I felt like I had been hit over the head with something. My heart was racing. I couldn't move, even though I was screaming at my legs to haul ass and get out.

"Callie, don't. Don't go." He gently grabbed my arm.

His touch gave me a jolt, waking me up. I snapped back to life. "No—I, I shouldn't be here." I stuttered. I turned around, trying to remember where the door was. When I found it I walked as fast as I could door without running.

"Cal, wait!" he called after me. I was already gone. But I couldn't forget how he wouldn't let go of my arm until I was completely out of his reach, like he never wanted to let me go.

**XXXXXXX**

I was lying on my bed staring up at the ceiling.

Mac and I _kissed._

_Mac_ and I kissed.

I couldn't stop thinking about it. It was so not what we should be doing but. . .I liked it. It wasn't just your average, lips pressing together, first kiss. But I don't mean he had shoved his tongue down my throat or grabbed my ass. It wasn't like that at all. It kind of just happened. . .I felt his lips on mine and I kissed him back. My mouth went right over the concave of his as if they just fit together. It didn't feel wrong or gross like you'd think it would have. It was the kind of kiss where you'd imagine fireworks going off in the background. I didn't want to push him away. But I had to.

I was so confused. Since when did Mac want to kiss me? And since when I was so cool with kissing him? It didn't make any sense. My head had been spinning non-stop. It was giving me quite the headache. I closed my eyes and squeezed my body a round a pillow. _Do not think about it, _I commanded myself. _Do not think—_

The door opened. I sat up. Blake was coming in. "Hey. What's up?" she said brightly.

"Nothing." That honestly couldn't be further from the truth.

She dropped her stuff on the floor and sat on the edge of my bed. "So no classes, huh? Lucky. What have you been doing all day?"

Oh, you know, making out with sworn enemies. The usual. "Just hanging out." I shrugged.

"Cool. The team has practice tomorrow. right? I was thinking we could watch again and go to dinner afterwards—"

I felt my whole body stiffen. There was no way I could go to another practice yet. Actually, never seemed like the best option right now. I couldn't face Mac again. What would I say? What would he say? Would he pretend like nothing happened? I had a feeling he wouldn't, and that's what scared me the most.

Blake kept yapping. "I met Andrew today—you know, Andrew McClanahan, Robby's brother? He said you guys were friends so he'd come, too."

I had to stop this outing-planning fest. Now. "Oh, tomorrow?" I interjected, thinking fast. "I can't. I have to study. For a test."

"You sure?"

I nodded. "I have to study a lot."

"That sucks."

"It's okay. You guys go on without me."

I didn't know how I was going to survive the Olympics without running into Rob—I mean, Mac. But it would have to be done. This kissing business could not get anymore serious.

**XXXXXXXX**

Day number two of avoiding McClanahan: successful so far. I had been staying my dorm unless I had school. For the first time I was actually glad that I had classes. And school was safe. School had Blake and Julie to keep my mind off the you-know-what business. Maybe I'd never leave school again.

The bell rang. Was Eighteen Century Artists over all ready? I looked at my blank sheet of notebook paper. Whoops. . . I swung my bag over my shoulder and fell into the step with the rest of the college crowd, pouring out into the hallways. I was meeting Juliana and Blake for history. I was walking along when I heard someone calling my name.

"Cal! Callie!"

Oh God, I thought, my heart speeding up. That was not the voice of Julie or Blake.

"Callie!"

How did he find me? I needed to get out of there. Fast. I side stepped around a smooching couple and ducked between two juniors. If I could just get around the corner maybe I'd be home free. Maybe I'd get out of it. I wished I could run. But they were too many people!

"Cal!" I heard again and knew that he was no less than two feet behind me. I can't compete with someone who has done hundreds of Herbies, now can I? I will never be that athletic. I turned on my heels just in time to see Rob stop in front of me. He grabbed my elbows to steady himself.

"Hey," he said, sounding winded. Hair was falling into his face and he was wearing a white button down that was, well, _button-downed _ enough to show off his muscular chest.

I gulped. Why did he have to be so damn attractive? "What are you doing here?" I demanded, as he steered me to the side of the hall. "I'm in school, Jesus Christ."

He looked me in the eyes. "I really need to talk to you."

"You need to talk to me?" I echoed. "I don't have time for this!"

"Cal, please. . ." He stepped in front of me, blocking my path. "Why have you been ignoring me?"

I bit the inside of my cheek. "I haven't." It was a terrible lie—we both knew it.

"Stop hiding from this. You've been ignoring me ever since we. . .you know."

How was I going to get out of this one? A mechanical buzzing rang through the halls. Saved by the bell. "I have to go to class,"

He grabbed my elbow. "Wait. I'm not letting you get away again." he said as the halls quickly began to clear. Crap. Teachers did not like it when I was late. A minute later the hall was empty.

"Oh, fantastic." I snarled. "What do you want?" I asked. "You're wasting—"

The sound of people walking around the corner made us both shut up. "I just saw her. . ." It was Juliana's voice.

"Where did she go?" That was Blake talking. In two seconds they would be in front of us. I meant to walk toward them but someone (guess who?) grabbed my shoulder and pushed me into a dark, abandoned classroom. How convenient.

"Are you insane?" I hissed. "Let me through!" I tried to push past him but he pinned my shoulders against the wall. I know that sounds pretty awful (like Nolen level) but it's wasn't as if he slammed me against it. . .just kind of pushed. He put his hands on either side of head, once again blocking my path and I knew if I tried to duck under his arms he could grab me in about a half a second. Julie and Blake stopped walking right in front of the closed door. I gnawed on my lip. I prayed they wouldn't decide to look in here. Being found in a dark classroom alone with someone (especially Mac) is not considered good publicity.

"Don't. Say. Anything." he whispered earnestly (as if I would), putting his hand over my mouth. This was considered kidnapping! I tried my hardest to glare at him through the darkness.

"Well, what do we do now?" we heard Julie ask.

I guess I could have kneed him in the nuts or something but I was weirdly calm. I let myself relax, his body like a barrier around me. Don't judge.

"We should get to history. Maybe she's in the bathroom."

"Yeah. Let's go before we're even more late." Their footsteps faded away. Mac dropped his hands.

"What are you doing?" I finally asked.

"Now that you're acknowledging my existence, I want to make the most of it."

I knew we shouldn't have been this close. Any minute I was going to tell him to get off me. Any minute now. . . A lock of wavy dark hair fell in his eyes. I did the worst thing I possibly could have done. I reached up and smoothed it off his forehead.

"Cal—" he whispered.

"Not now," I cut him off, wrapped my arms around his neck and crashed my lips over his. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I just threw myself at Robert Bruce McClanahan, the bane of my existence. Why? Somewhere in the timeframe of after I touched his hair and before I attacked his mouth with my lips, I summed it up in three answers: (1) I was finally admitting it—he was pretty good looking (2) It had been a while since I made out with anyone (3) And finally, really what else are you supposed to do if you're alone with someone in close proximity? After that, I just acted. I could worry about it later.

He seemed surprised at first and his reaction didn't come right away. But then it did. He cupped the side of my face in his hand, his warm fingers slipped under my hair and touched the back of my neck. Okay, I knew there was a million reasons why I should not be doing this, but let's be honest—I loved it. With his warm, strong body pressing me against the cold classroom wall, I didn't think about anything. I couldn't. Who knew he, of all people, could have this affect me? I didn't understand why I had pushed him away before. But at the same time, it all made sense. All those glares and arguing, it was as if it was all leading up to this. Or, well, maybe our first kiss, but this was equally amazing.

Then he licked the rim of my lower lip and I got scared. _Rob McClanahan. Rob McClanahan. Rob McClanahan. _The thought kept popping up in the back of my mind like an annoying mosquito. What the hell was I doing? I peeled myself off him and leaned against the wall to catch my breath.

"What's the matter?" he asked. "What did I do?"

"This is crazy." I sighed. "What are we doing?" I looked down, only to see his arm still wrapped around my waist. He must have me felt me tense up because he took a step back.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me. . .wanting to kiss you and all."

Ditto, I thought. "It just doesn't make sense. One day we can't stand to be in the same room together and now we're all over each other." I tried to explain. "I don't understand what happened."

He slid his hands down his jeans pockets. "Maybe the boys were right after all."

"How do you mean?"

He seemed embarrassed and even in the dim light I could see the top of his cheeks turned slightly pink.

"Maybe we do have sexual tension."

Before I could stop myself, I started laughing. It just sounded so ridiculous. And true, I'll admit that. Mac laughed along with me. He had nice laugh. It was the kind that filled up a room and made you want to laugh, too. I didn't know why I had never noticed that before. Then I remembered where we were and what we had just done, and it didn't seem like this problem was going to go away. And yes, it was obviously a problem. "This is the last time we do this." I said as firmly I could manage. Because there might have been tiny speck of regret. Okay, a medium-sized one.

"You really think that?" he asked. His eyes were big and sad.

Aw, damn. I immediately averted my gaze so I wouldn't have to look at them. I closed mine nodded slowly because it was suddenly hard to. "Yeah. We can't. It's wrong."

"But I just thought—I mean, wasn't there something—?" he looked extremely confused and frustrated,

like there was something he wanted to say but couldn't.

"Forget it, Mac. We can't do this again." Then I walked out of there without looking back. I felt terrible.

**I hoped that this would be something to sort of make up for my absence. And I know I don't deserve it, but if I don't get any reviews I don't see a point in even posting a couple more chapters. But thank you for even reading this and coming this far, it's really flattering. I hope you liked it. **


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